


Run Baby Run

by VivificanousPrime



Series: Check Yes [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, Except Breakdown, Graphic Description, M/M, Mech Preg (Transformers), Medical Malpractice, Miscarriage, Nobody likes Knock Out, Scavenging bodies, Sexy Times, Tags Omitted to Avoid Spoilers, Vivisection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 81,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24639193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivificanousPrime/pseuds/VivificanousPrime
Summary: Before they joined the Decepticon folds, Knock Out and Breakdown were Autobots. But their experience with the supposed "good guys" was anything but pleasant.
Relationships: Breakdown/Knock Out, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Check Yes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978210
Comments: 47
Kudos: 99





	1. Reuniting

“So…I’ve been thinking.”

The tip of a scalpel met the fuel lines connecting to the spark chamber.

“What about?”

With precise incisions, the blade ran through each line.

“My position…here at the facility.”

Three clean cuts and the chamber was freed.

“Don’t go getting greedy. When you have an adequate enough resume, the surgeon title is yours.”

As the chamber was removed, swift hands cauterized lines.

“That’s just it, you see. I have an _idea_ that just might build my case.”

The scalpel returned, this time to acquaint itself with the outer plating protecting the chest’s other internals.

“…And that is?”

The body lay neatly spread open from neck to pelvis.

“The Wreckers are a bit of nightmare for any medic, especially the field medics they get paired with. What if they were to have a _private_ physician? On staff, here at base, ready to fix them up whenever they return.”

Perfectly in sync, the scalpel and the hands acted to clear each item from the frame.

“…And you believe you could handle them?”

The transformation cog refused to budge, hanging by threads to its previous owner.

“I would never suggest something if I didn’t have complete confidence in my success. Besides, if I can manage them, I can be trusted as Chief of Surgery.”

The connection was severed by another clean slice to the lines that held it.

“The idea won’t be credited to you. You realize why?”

Hands moved again to seal the leaks.

“Naturally. It’s not the _claim_ over the concept I’m after. Just the benefits I can reap later on.”

Dead optics stared unafraid at the knife cutting into them and relinquishing from them their positions in the helm.

“Very well then. Consider the post yours.”

The processor was a trickier business.

“You won’t regret it.”

But it yielded under the knife all the same.

Knock Out idly inspected their spoils with a self-satisfied grin. Pharma moved passed him, preparing each organ to be correctly preserved as Knock Out set to busying himself with the cleanup.

The mech on the operating table remained deadly silent as Knock Out welded his gutted form shut again. He was a maestro behind a buffer just the same as he was behind a scalpel.

When he was finished, no evidence of their little enterprise remained.

The Wreckers were not in the least bit thrilled with the new arrangement.

Apparently, there had been a bit of a fight. Kup didn’t see the reason for any one person to be so highly involved in his and his team’s lives without actually being a part of them. But the higher ups had latched onto the idea and fought hard for its reality. Rumor was, the Prime himself got involved and threatened to order Kup into compliance.

Knock Out didn’t quite care _how_ the matter was resolved, only that he eventually got what he wanted. And the victory tasted deliciously sweet. Who cared that nearly every heavy-duty mech lumbering toward them was wearing a face intent on murder? Knock Out was only focused on one.

Breakdown lit up like a spark once he caught sight of him. It was the most beautiful thing Knock Out had seen in a long while, melting away the thoughts and opinions of others. His innocent excitement made the Wreckers’ walk from their shuttle to the greeting party last a lifetime. Still it ended all too soon.

Much as he wanted to stare into Breakdown’s gorgeous golden eyes instead, Knock Out directed his focus to the exchange. Ironhide, as the Commander of the base, opened the pleasantries with Kup, extending a servo to the Wrecker.

“Good to see you, mech.”

Kup glared at the offered hand before taking it. “Sure it is.”

“I know this isn’t what you’d like—”

“What the slag does it matter what I like anymore?” Kup growled.

Ironhide raised a pacifying hand. “All you got to do is try it out,” he reasoned in his slow, easy drawl. It seemed to work in calming Kup, but the remaining Wreckers (all except Breakdown, of course) shifted anxiously on their peds. Ironhide released Kup’s servo to gesture at the flyer standing next to him. “This is Pharma, Ratchet’s Second—”

“The scrapheap who suggested this,” Kup accused.

Pharma threw on his dealing-with-difficult-patients smile. “Just doing my part for the Autobot cause.”

“Well, shove it.”

“This is Knock Out,” Pharma dramatically diverting everyone’s attention to the smaller, shinier mech standing just behind him. “He’s all yours.”

Knock Out was perfectly aware what the scene must have looked like from the other end. Here he was: lithe, piercing azure optics, and half some of these mech’s size, smirking cockily up at the Autobot’s most insane. He knew if he was going to have any hope at wrangling thirteen psychopaths with unnamable weaponry (plus Breakdown), his first impression had to count.

He also knew that with brutes, behavior was the native language.

“Welcome back,” Knock Out greeted using his smoothest tone. “We have a lot of getting to know one another, don’t we?” He rotated slowly, deliberately, on the tips of his peds away from his new team to face the open entrance of the base. With a sleek motion, he beckoned them. “Let’s start with physicals.”

He didn’t wait to see if they would follow. Instead, he swayed his hips as he stalked off, determined not to let any form of control he had dwindle in insecurities.

Unsurprisingly, Breakdown’s distinct ped-fall was the first to catch up to him. The rest came hesitantly behind.

“Hi!” Breakdown whispered, almost loud enough to defeat the purpose. A quick side-eye proved what Knock Out could practically hear: his cutie was wearing a grin bigger than his face. And it was contagious.

“Happy with the new arrangement?” he whispered back.

“Well, yeah! I was already excited just to see you!”

“Me too,” he hummed.

“How’d you score this?”

Knock Out’s grin, for a brief moment of lost control, faltered into something sinister. “Later.”

“Sure. Got that covered, by the way.” Breakdown shot him a cheeky wink. Before Knock Out could ask for an elaboration, one of his new charges ran ahead of them, twirling around to walk backwards.

“ _This_ is your mech, Break?” he laughed, disbelieving.

“Well,” a round, green mech spoke up from Knock Out’s other side, “you weren’t kidding about him being red.”

“Or shiny!” someone piped up from behind.

“Glad to know you’ve heard of me,” Knock Out complemented, gaining himself a cocky grin from the backwards walker.

“ _All_ about you,” he teased.

“It’s all Breakdown talks about!”

“ _I miss Knock Out!_ ”

“ _He’s the prettiest mech I’ve ever seen!_ ”

“ _I swear he’s real!_ ”

“Knock it off!” Kup commanded. Everyone immediately silenced.

Knock Out could feel the heat of embarrassment rising in Breakdown. He let his servo fall into his partner’s and squeezed it. Breakdown looked up at him with scared eyes, as if to do one wrong thing would cost him everything. It was a paranoia Knock Out knew all too well.

“I missed you, too,” he reassured in a hushed tone. “Enough to make up a whole new title just to see you more.”

His words brought Breakdown’s smile back.

They eventually approached the medical wing, entering through the sliding doors with Knock Out in the lead and Kup closely trailing him. It was easy checking them all in, and Knock Out thanked his foresight to merge everyone’s medical files and organize them into one databank. The lack of organization with the group didn’t surprise him, but it had been annoying and tedious work, nonetheless.

He directed the group to the Light Injury section of the facility. There were a few private rooms there, and each was designed for quick meetings with patients, like the physicals he was performing.

“Now,” Knock Out explained, “the purpose of all this is to get a baseline reading for everyone. That way, next time you come in, I can see if anything’s changed, like the state of a repairing wound.” He flicked a dismissive servo to one of the rooms. “One by one. Who wants to go first?”

Kup stepped forward and wordlessly entered the private room. Knock Out paused, a little caught off guard, but quickly recovered his professionalism to hurry in after the Wrecker leader.

There wasn’t much Knock Out knew about the warrior. Breakdown sang his praises for his commander, but couldn’t offer up a strong description for why exactly the cranky mech garnered his respect. Spark merging gave him a little insight. Through his lover’s memories, Knock Out could experience to some degree what Kup was like to work with.

He gave a silent thank you to Breakdown. Knowing just what Kup expected out of people would give him an edge when making his first impressions.

“Glad to see _someone_ understands that cooperation makes everything a little easier,” Knock Out praised casually. He didn’t allow idle conversation to distract him, though. Scanners and prods were moved to a mobile table, and Knock Out turned on the monitors he needed.

“Don’t see the need in making such a fuss,” Kup replied as he sat himself on the medical berth.

“Best to simply get it over with sans the drama,” Knock Out agreed, already moving a scanner over Kup’s frame. “Any major conditions I should know about?”

Kup huffed. “The usual. Should all be on my record.”

Knock Out hummed. “I have your file, just checking that there’s nothing missing. Stand for me and extend your arms straight out.” He motioned a little demonstration which Kup imitated.

“Got a bad servo joint,” Kup conceded. “Each limb’s been either broken or blown off at least once.”

Knock Out favored the taller mech with a humoring smirk. “I _do_ have my work cut out for me.”

He huffed again. “We’ve been _fine_.”

“Thus far,” Knock Out countered, moving to pick up a different scanner. “But patients tend to benefit from consistency. If one person knows everything about your medical history, they don’t need to waste time reading over a file before treating you. It could save someone’s life.”

That got the Wrecker’s attention. Kup mulled over the statement as Knock Out ran through the remaining exercises and tests. For all the damage he had sustained throughout his life, Kup was in fairly good health. Knock Out complement as much as he finished, jotting down his notes on Kup’s file.

“We done?” Kup asked, looking, Knock Out dared to say, a little more appreciative.

“All done!” he sang. “Watch that left shoulder—just avoid recharging on that side for a while—but otherwise you’re good to go.”

Kup stood, lingering by the berth a moment. “This was all your idea?”

That someone would eventually realize his intentions had always been a possibility. Knock Out initially wanted to deny all involvement. There was the fear of people knowing his connection to Breakdown, that their partnership could somehow be used against them. It had always been a real risk in their lives before the war. But now? What good would it really do him to lie to Kup? Especially since Breakdown evidently hadn’t contained his excitement over seeing him again.

“Yes,” he answered slowing, back facing the commander as he fiddled with a data pad.

Kup was quiet for beat. “Don’t think that this means you can slack. If you’re going to stay, you have to do your job.”

“To the best of my abilities,” Knock Out agreed. He perked up, spinning around to face him. “I don’t do anything half-way.”

“Good.” And with that, Kup stalked out of the room.

That went well, Knock Out reassured himself. All he had to do was his job, and Kup was likely to keep him around.

He steeled himself, preparing to walk back out to retrieve another victim, but was stopped by a large form entering the room.

Breakdown shuffled in, overly mindful of his large size, and looked as though he was vibrating from pure elation. A pleasant buzz zipped through Knock Out’s spinal strut.

“Hi!” Breakdown repeated, still in that loud whisper.

“Hello there, stranger,” Knock Out purred teasingly. “Have a seat.”

Breakdown didn’t put up a fight, but he did rope his lover into a secure hug instead of readily obeying. “I missed you so much!”

What could he possibly do other than embrace him right back? There was something very intoxicating about being wrapped in those thick arms. Like the whole world could be deflected away by them. It was pure bliss, pressing their frames together. Knock Out fit so perfectly just under Breakdown’s broad chest that he could comfortably smoosh his face into the warm metal. He couldn’t quite reach around his lover’s thicker waist, but his digits reached seams in the blue brute’s back effortlessly, allowing him to tug himself closer.

If he could stay in that safe space for eternity, Knock Out would. He knew without a doubt Breakdown would, too. To hold and to be held with such certainty was better than any drug Knock Out had ever tried.

But life needed to be lived. And so, the embrace needed to end.

Breakdown didn’t squander the chance to bend down and give him a sweet peck.

Knock Out hummed, pressing himself further into the kiss. “I missed you, too.” He gave his lover a light push. “Now take a seat. I have work to do,” he ordered, smile refusing to leave him.

Breakdown relaxed into compliance, shifting about on the berth to get comfortable. “Kup seemed better about all this.”

Knock Out twirled his scanner between his hands. “We talked.”

“Well, whatever you said must’ve worked.”

“Good. I intend to stick around. Bad attitudes won’t help that.” Knock Out motioned for Breakdown to lift each of his arms and rotate them.

“How’d you get this, anyway?”

An innocent question if one didn’t know the answer. “Not here, babe. I’ll explain during a spark merge.”

Breakdown paused his arm waving to fix him with a concerned look. “That serious?”

“Just not anything I can disclose aloud,” Knock Out explained, placing a reassuring hand on top of Breakdown’s chest. “Tell me, though. Just what have you planned for us, exactly?”

Knock Out could sense in their mingled fields Breakdown’s lingering discomfort, but he took to the distraction anyway.

“The guys are letting you and me have the place to ourselves for a bit.”

“The entire Wreckers’ barracks? Stand for me.”

Breakdown heaved himself to his peds. “Yeah! They all though it was pretty crummy of me to make us meet up in storage closets.”

Knock Out laughed at the pleasant memories. “It’s more thrilling that way!”

Breakdown’s hearty laughter mingled in. “That’s what I said! But everyone said I ought to ‘treat a pretty mech better’.” He emphasized just what he thought of the statement with a sarcastic gesture and frown. “Only rule is not to go at it in the common room.”

“Do they know you’ve smuggled me in there before?”

“Not at all!” Breakdown chuckled. “But hey, we get to be as loud as we want.” He tried to wriggle his optic ridges in a seductive motion, but it just made Knock Out blush for all the wrong reasons. For as fragging huge as Breakdown was, he was the softest spark Knock Out had ever known.

And Knock Out knew very well what else his lover was insinuating. To be alone meant they could talk freely. No hushed tones, no quiet confessions. It was a rare opportunity, and neither of them had any intentions of ruining it.

“Well, the sooner I’m done here, the sooner I have you all to myself.” Knock Out trailed a hand lightly down Breakdown’s front, generating a small charge in both their fields.

Breakdown revved his engine the way he knew could turn Knock Out on. “By all means.” He couldn’t be truly seductive, but Knock Out would be lying if he said Breakdown deepening his voice wasn’t fragging _attractive_.

“Not yet,” he purred. “I have other patients to attend to.”

Neither really cooled down, but Knock Out managed, by some miracle, to finish up the physical without pinning his golden eyed lover to the medical berth. And no matter how many times he reminded himself they would be seeing one another later— _alone_ , to top it all off—he couldn’t keep his hands from tugging at Breakdown’s hips to delay his leaving.

Fortunately, Breakdown knew all the ways to pacify him for the time being. Strong arms lifted his lighter frame to even the playing field. Breakdown kissed him hard and slow, draining him of all his drive in the best possible way. Hands roamed up and down his aft and thighs, so Knock Out squeezed the waist between his legs in a little tease, grinding up against the plating there. It earned him a cute moan and the sounds of Breakdown bracing himself on the wall. Knock Out reached with both hands to tug at the seams in Breakdown’s helm, dragging him deeper into the kiss.

“I could go for that kind of physical!”

The kiss ended abruptly at the sounds of deep chuckles. Breakdown set him down carefully and moved to block the view of whoever had spoken.

“Shut up!” Breakdown objected. It was weak, fueled from being flushed and stunned.

Knock Out collected himself quicker. The door to the private room, he noted, was now wide open, the door panel on the wall just behind Breakdown. He connected the dots pretty easily.

“It’s a special kind of treatment,” he spoke up, voice made swiftly even thanks to a lifetime of practice. “Not for the faint of spark, unfortunately.”

A chorus of surprised and impressed noises jumped at the chance to mock the Wrecker who had dared to jeer the pair. For his part, the mech smiled with humor and raised his hands in surrender.

Satisfied with the small victory, Knock Out brushed off his front plating. “Who’s next?”

No one made to move. Thirteen pairs of optics took to avoiding his gaze as if they believed if they could not see him then he couldn’t see them.

Knock Out inspected each of them. Kup had vacated the medbay and, therefore, could not force one of his mechs to step forward. A glance at his embarrassed lover proved him to be of no help as Breakdown sat himself down right outside the door and conducted a staring contest with the floor. He was on his own, then.

“You,” he addressed the most uncomfortable looking of the group, a round green mech about the same mass as Breakdown. The poor thing lifted his gaze with a grimace and a small ounce of hope. Knock Out quickly smashed it with a beckoning digit, smiling all the while.

It pleased him, if he was being entirely honest with himself, to have something to hold over or threaten the group of brutes with. At least for the short term, until he knew which buttons to press in each of them to get what he wanted.

He led his latest victim into the private room with a new rise in confidence. “Sit,” he commanded, and the green mech shuffled obediently. “Which one are you?” he asked, shifting through the individual data packets to find his.

“Name’s Bulkhead.”

Bulkhead…the name rang a bell somewhere in Knock Out’s memory banks. He turned it over in his head as he located the Wrecker’s file.

“You and Breakdown—you’re that friend of his, aren’t you?” Knock Out recalled casually, turning around to being the exam. “From his construction days?”

“Yeah,” Bulkhead confirmed hesitantly. “We never met back then.”

“Strange to think, isn’t it? That we both had a mutual party we were close to and still managed to avoid one another,” he joked, running the scanner over the mech.

“Wasn’t unintentional.”

The words hung heavy in the air. His professionalism remained, but Knock Out panicked over the deliberate tone. He had no clue what the mech could have heard about him to garner such opposition, especially given Breakdown. His lover could hardly say a bad thing about the most wretched of people, let alone _him_.

Not wanting the silence to deafen them, Knock Out aimed for something vaguely snarky. “Shame.”

Bulkhead just hummed.

For a long while, the only words spoken were quick commands on Knock Out’s part. The awkwardness was suffocating him, but what was he to say? Interrogate the mech? Demand to know just what his problem was and where it might have stemmed from? Knock Out didn’t care for being clingy or needy. He certainly didn’t want to come across as whiny on top of whatever Breakdown’s friend thought of him.

It didn’t escape his notice, now with the reminder of just who this mech was, that Bulkhead was the same mech in Breakdown’s construction crew to suggest the Autobot enlistment. It hadn’t been what Knock Out had wanted, but Breakdown had been so keen on the idea. That Bulkhead would have likely left him behind had they not joined was a thought that had crossed Knock Out’s mind more than once. But aside from himself, Breakdown was relatively alone. So really, there had been no debating the matter.

The connections only angered him more. Knock Out had given up his own ideas and desires so that his lover could remain with his closest friend. Now that very “friend” was blatantly disrespecting him upon their first interaction.

The doctor in him seized control, forcing the built up emotions to subside in favor of his work.

Bulkhead didn’t help matters.

“I know the kind of mech you are,” he spoke up.

Knock Out focused on his professional side. “Do you, now?”

“The kind that uses people to get what you want.”

“Hate to tell you this, but everyone does that,” he sang with delight.

“Breakdown’s naïve. That kind of scrap is only going to crush him.”

Knock Out wasn’t sure what to be more struck by: the suggestion that he would ever harm someone as kind sparked as Breakdown or the threatening tone. Either way, he was offended.

“What of my behavior would ever give you such an idea?” he challenged.

Bulkhead scowled. “It’s your type.”

He was either racist or classist, and neither sat well with the medic. “Sorry you feel that way,” he said, voice completely void of emotion.

Bulkhead looked as though he wanted to say more, but the physical was done.

“Out you go,” Knock Out ordered with a shooing motion. “Go pick out my next patient, you’re done.”

The Wrecker hesitated to leave, but Knock Out sought to make it clear he no longer had his attention. Knock Out didn’t turn back around until he heard the door open and close.

He slowly cycled his vents, expelling all the negativities that would do more harm than good.

Bulkhead’s stunt aside, everyone else on the team was relatively laid back. Some were varying degrees of jerk, but that came more with the jobs they did. You had to be a cocky aft to think driving head on into an explosion was a good idea. And really, who was he to judge? He cut people open for a living. The unnatural does things to the psyche.

Breakdown was still sitting by the door when he finished picking up. He and (Seaspray, he was pretty sure) were the only ones left, the two joking around until Knock Out walked out. Breakdown immediately stood with a grin, but Knock Out wasn’t blind to his companion’s cautious glances.

“Ready to go?” Breakdown asked, bouncing on his peds looking for all the world like a lovestruck youngling.

He couldn’t help but be endeared. “Indeed I am.” Knock Out extended a servo which his lover swiftly took in his own. He let his engine rev flirtatiously.

“And…that’s my cue to leave!” Seaspray (definitely him, the one who sounds like he’s drowning) sprang to his peds. He gave the pair a curt wave. “We’ll be in the rec room, Break.”

Breakdown made a short noise in affirmation but kept his focus on Knock Out. He lightly kissed the smaller hand secured in his.

Knock Out reached up with his free hand to pull Breakdown closer. “Lead the way,” he sang, ghosting over the larger mech’s lip plates. Breakdown closed the gap, smiling into the kiss.

The Wreckers’ barracks were one of the few living quarters with a large common room between each individual room. The base itself had been designed with the unit in mind. Nine separate berth rooms jutted out from the living room: one for Kup, one for a field medic, and seven for the fourteen warriors.

The medic’s room was typically empty. Most seasoned soldiers failed to keep up with the unit’s chaos tactics, let alone smaller, less armored physicians. When the group was in-between medics, that was usually where Breakdown would smuggle in Knock Out.

The irony that it was now his actual room didn’t escape him.

Part of the idea for the Wreckers maintaining the one alive doctor was to minimize the death toll. With Knock Out now on board, the need for gangly field medics to act more like cannon fodder than aid was eliminated. Ergo, the room was all his—and by extension Breakdown’s—to break in.

They didn’t waste precious time. After decacycles of no contact, the desire for touch was a legitimate _need_. Breakdown had opened the door with an impressive level of restraint, but Knock Out was swept into his arms before it closed.

The doorframe to his berth room met Knock Out’s back with a slam. The thought of the scratches it no doubt produced was the furthest from his mind. He was far too busy tugging at any part of Breakdown he could reach, pressing his heating frame closer, and kissing like it was the last chance he would ever have to do so.

Somehow, one of them had found the keypad, but neither dwelled on it for long. Knock Out collapsed into his berth, buzzing at the feeling of Breakdown finally being there. He lay melting there as Breakdown sought to cover his whole frame with frantic kisses.

Vents kicked on. Condensation formed to cover them both in a soft sheen.

It was hard and fast and desperate. Hands searched and clasped, not daring to let their other go for even a moment. Their faces reunited and sought to eat one another whole. To be close in ways that transcended anything purely physical.

They moved and ground against and with in a game of pull and be pulled. Neither was quite sure where one began and the other ended, and the distinction hardly mattered. Two were one for the first time in a long while.

After building and crashing more times than either cared to track, chest plates spread apart in unison. Knock Out stared down from his place atop Breakdown, transfixed by the gold light of his lover’s life. Breakdown stalled his vents. He looked truly beautiful, Knock Out thought, bathed in his own spark’s crimson glow.

Knock Out moved, slowly and deliberately to incite a reaction out of the big mech. Breakdown fell into the sensation readily, moaning pleasantly. He was delaying a conversation that was bound to happen. His lover knew, could sense with their sparks exposed and so close, that Knock Out was hesitating. But he let Knock Out clench and rock him into submission. Partly because it felt _good_ ; partly because it let his lover release his nerves.

But he didn’t see fit to take it lying down. Knock Out was prevented from rotating his hips by large, strong hands. Breakdown trapped him in an engulfing kiss, refusing to separate even as he flipped them over.

Now it was Breakdown’s turn to move, to build, to throw himself into Knock Out. Their sparks surged with inevitable overload, reaching out to tangle with one another and covering them each in a sea of lively light.

Vents roaring to catch up with his overheated frame, Knock Out didn’t allow himself another moment of hesitation. He captured Breakdown’s face once more and arched to let his spark chamber collide with his. Breakdown crashed into him, fueled by passion and a lovely lust.

Their sparks embraced with the usual wave of pleasant energy that sent jolts down their joined frames. The world then blanked into whiteness and held itself there. The two lay suspended from themselves before falling into intertwined memories and experiences.

There were those times on Velocitron they both fought to forget. Memories of dark mines lit by energon veins and biolights. Memories of bright colored bodies arranged in exotic dances. There were the clear feelings of a small weight in their arms, of a soft red form at peace in recharge.

It was an unspoken rule to bypass the part of their existences before either was truly living.

There were easier memories, anyway. The ones of quiet evenings and cheap engex. Of sleepy interface and slow mornings. They fell through their lives together and apart from before this whole war began through the struggles of military placement to the sneaking around the base on the occasions the Wreckers returned.

Not all of it was pleasant. Friends were made and just as soon lost. Forever the Wreckers were fourteen but never the same for more than a vorn. Knock Out felt nothing but thankful and proud. His Breakdown was still here, alive to share this moment with him, and there was little else in life to wish for. Remorse still remained to cloud memories of those long gone, but its potency faded.

Knock Out was no better off. Patients died in his hands. Peers accused him of wrongdoings. Distrust and paranoia shrouded everything. Then there was the deal. Of all the things he thought Knock Out might have shied away from sharing, this was nowhere near Breakdown’s imaginings. Memories of dead mechs lay cold open before them, their bodies looted then packaged away. Pharma was there, the director of the madness, sawing into empty frames and piling the spoils into bins.

The most terror came from the complete lack of guilt.

Energy surged through them as they reached their present moments. All the emotion and sensations gathered collapsed within them, sending them both into a brief shut down.

Breakdown woke up face down with a cushion smooshed to his face plates. As the feeling gradually returned to his limbs, he registered the frame laying still under his arm.

He panicked, thinking he might have fallen on top of Knock Out and crushed the smaller mech, but his worries eased away as his stunning red lover smiled, still in recharge next to him. He stretched his slender form, then rolled onto his side. Completely fine.

No doubt the berth was in much worse shape than Knock Out, but Breakdown didn’t feel up to dealing with that just yet. He felt delightfully sore and tired all over.

Breakdown shut his optics, but his mind refused to quiet down. Reopening his eyes, he looked over to Knock Out’s back, searching an answer that would let him sleep peacefully.

Pharma was scavenging bodies. More importantly, Knock Out was helping him. Even more importantly, the whole idea was perfectly sound in Knock Out’s mind. His hesitation existed only in him fearing what Breakdown might think or what Pharma might do to them if he quit.

What worried him the most? Breakdown couldn’t really disagree with the logic. With so few supplies available and so many mechs needing them, it made sense even from a moral standpoint to take the needed parts from the dead.

But it just seemed so _wrong_. They were dead, had no say-so.

But was it really right to let someone else die if you knew a way to save them?

The internal debate was going nowhere, so Breakdown gave up. He shifted himself to better wrap his arm around the prone form next to him and hugged it tight. It would have to be a conversation for later. Right now, his body ached in satisfaction. All he wanted to do was sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! All my work exists in the same overall storyline, so you can read just how that deal between Pharma and Knock Out went down in "Prepare for Surgery". 
> 
> I know there is a lot of positive change right now sparking a great deal of negativity. Stay safe everyone! And stay kind!


	2. A Change in Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly a vorn has come and gone, and everything was falling into routine. Emphasis on 'was'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some warnings before we start: there are talks of undesired abortions. It comes from characters who were fed false information and were otherwise kept from education.

Knock Out was lounging peacefully among his favorite stake of crates, trying to give off the appearance of taking inventory. Evidently, _some_ were not buying what he was selling. 

Allodyn’s angry pedfalls could be heard clear across the room as the medic stalked towards him. 

“You have a job to do, you know.”

Knock Out elected not to grace his rival with the aggression he clearly wanted from him. Instead, he plastered on a fake grin. “Don’t we both?”

“I am doing mine,” Allodyn defended.

“Are you?” Knock Out sang. He looked the mech up and down. “You seemed to be doing an awful lot of nothing from my view of things.”

“I came to get you off your aft!”

“No, you’re interrupting me.” He made tsk sound, shaking his helm. “What would our superior think if he knew you were keeping a fellow medic from doing their job?”

That sent the other mech’s energon rolling through his fuel lines. “We have physicals on the agenda not ‘inventory’.”

“Good to know you can half-way read!” Knock Out sat up and flicked a servo to the calendar board. “I have my own team to look over, so I don’t have to perform any until they arrive. So, while I wait for my troublemakers,” he shook the data pad for emphasis, “I can go through all these supplies.”

Argument voided, Allodyn glared at him before stalking off back into the medbay proper. 

Knock Out muttered to himself as he leaned back once more, resting his optics for good measure.

Being Pharma’s favorite was beneficial in a multitude of ways, but no number of polite retorts or praise would change others’ view of him. If the likes of Allodyn were going to call him lazy anyway, there was no reason he couldn’t indulge in the reputation. 

His peaceful atmosphere was broken once again, this time via his comm. He vented in frustration as he read the automated message.

::Wrecker unit status: online. Transportation status: landing in Kima delayed to 109c:15j:10b. Reason for delay: classified.::

A fight had broken out then. And the brawl was costing him not only time spent with Breakdown but extra hours on shift in medical. Whoever’s fault it was, they would be hearing from Knock Out at his most displeased. 

He did all he could to return to some semblance of peace, but discomfort overcame him. Knock Out in-vented slowly, held it, then ex-vented as steady as he could. He felt exhausted already, and knowing his main source of comfort was further from his reach only put him more on edge. 

It didn’t help that delay also meant he would be moved to the first wave of medical personnel examinations. 

Pharma had everyone not managing patients line up in Light Injury, Lancer at his side operating the data files. 

“Alright,” he spoke up to gain their attention, “I will be taking one half of you and Lancer the other.” Pharma gestured to the halfway mark in the line of medics.

Knock Out spared a glance at his half and thanked whatever divine power set Allodyn on the opposite end. 

“All of you,” Pharma motioned to Knock Out’s group, “are with me.” Without another word, he motioned for them to transfer to the other end of the row of private rooms.

At least _this_ seemed to be going his way, small as the event was. One of the newer recruits, a young looking mech by the name of First Aid, was in his section. The younger medic spotted Knock Out during the quick walk and didn’t hesitate to plant himself next to him when they sat down, awaiting their turns. 

Knock Out didn’t care to tolerate very many, but First Aid had the rare distinction of being one of few he liked upon their first interaction. The kind mech reminded him in many ways of his lover, though on a far smaller scale. He was the innocent kind of youthful that could be easily mistaken as a pushover, despite being anything but. He was also one of the few to actively seek out Knock Out’s company. Aid, he realized after several conversations, truly did not see anyone’s frame as an indication of function, even on the subconscious level as most Autobots did. If he was right, that world view was likely due to the mech never having lived through functionalism in the first place. He served as a bright spot during long shifts spent among the more intolerable.

“Are you alright?” Aid abruptly spoke up, snapping him away from his thoughts.

Knock Out suddenly realized he was conducting a staring contest with the floor, the discomfort and fatigue returning. Venting would have perhaps aided his frame in stabilizing, but Knock Out couldn’t bring himself to show the youngling any sign of distress.

“Tired,” he explained away, adding a sweet upturn to the end to further his point. 

He didn’t believe First Aid was actually fooled, but the young medic allowed the excuse to fly. “Me too. I’m through with this cycle’s shift after this, though.”

Knock Out hummed like he was interested. 

“How about you?”

“No,” he snorted. “My crew was ‘delayed’, so I get a break between here and the night cycle but have to come back to check them in.”

Aid made a sympathetic sound. “Tough luck.”

“Now!” Pharma piped up as he walked over to their group with everyone’s files on hand. “Who wants to be my first victim?”

No one made to move, let alone volunteer. 

First Aid leaned over and suggested in a hushed tone, “You should go first.”

He would have laughed would it not have drawn attention to them. “Or you, since you could end your shift sooner.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t turn a full shade lighter just walking over here.”

That…unnerved him. Knock Out spared a glance at his bright red forearm, discovering its sheen to be less obvious and the red not quite as lively. 

“Who’s changing colors?” Pharma asked, sounding bored already, and looked in their direction. 

Normally, Knock Out preferred to align with the trend of doctors being atrocious patients. Deny feeling off and avoid an exam like cosmic rust. But, if he was being entirely honest with himself, First Aid was right. 

Knock Out made to raise his servo, and the small action left the world momentarily distorted. Aid placed a grounding hand on his back, and signaled to Pharma.

“It’s fatigue, I think,” the young mech explained.

That didn’t seem right. He had pushed himself to the limit before, forgoing recharge for nearly two cycles once. This felt more like his body was trying to force itself into a shut down.

The medbay righted itself in time for Knock Out to see Pharma approaching him and replacing Aid’s helpful hand with his own. 

“Is your vision spotting?” he asked.

Knock Out nearly shook his head, then thought better of it. “…No”

Pharma huffed then motioned for the other medics to move out of the way of a private room. The world warped again as Knock Out stood and was guided forward, the servo on his shoulder blade his only director. With every step, his legs felt more distant and further from his control. 

The mess was righted once he laid on the med berth. 

Knock Out allowed himself a moment of collection before lulling his head towards Pharma. “…I have no idea what’s happened.” The rest of his body was working against him, but his voice managed to come across as smooth as his typical tired self. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Pharma assured. “You seemed fine.”

“I…I was.” He considered his day up to that point. “Tired and uncomfortable, but that’s nothing new, now is it?”

The light of a scanner temporarily distorted his vision as it ran over his helm then down his body. Knock Out let his mentor work as he considered his own self-diagnostic. The symptoms all correlated with some illness or another, but most all had clear sources or were slow building. The only explanation for triggering the symptoms that Knock Out could deduce was the few paces it took to walk from one private room to another. It failed to add up.

“Knock Out…”

At Pharma’s even tone, he panicked. “That would be me.” The shot at humor did little to ease his sudden turmoil.

“Are you aware of this?”

Knock Out elected not to point out the stupidity of the question. He looked over to see Pharma pointing at a place in his chest near his spark.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, relieved to see a familiar sight. “That’s a simple fix.” He gradually rose to a seated position, swinging his legs over the edge to face Pharma and the monitors. “Strange how much it affected me, though.”

Pharma stared at him blankly. “Pardon?”

“That.” Knock Out gestured to the image of his frame on the monitor then to his chest just above his spark. “Usually, I don’t feel anything.”

Pharma worked his mouth, then pointed his hand at Knock Out. “A _simple_ fix?”

“Yes…” If Knock Out knew any better, he would have noted how anxious his mentor sounded. Instead, he steeled himself and opened his chest plates, revealing his crimson spark and the growth attached to it. “You just pull it ou—”

“Primus below! Do _not_!” Pharma shouted. In two quick strides, he was on Knock Out and pulling away the hand reaching into his chamber. “What are you _thinking_?” he interrogated with an anger and concern Knock Out had never seen from him.

He just sat there in a silent stun, staring at Pharma’s incredulous expression with his own dumbfounded one. 

“Who,” Pharma asked, gipping harder the hand he held, “who instructed you to yank out a sparklet like that?”

The term sent his entire world to a grinding halt. 

Growths on his spark chamber were normal, routine problems that took little to no time to remedy. They were just that, though: growths. Consequences of excess energy building up in one’s spark. It happened to everyone. Everyone dealt with the small matter the same way.

Everyone he knew, at least. Had known. 

“No,” Knock Out muttered. There was no room in his mind to even consider that the things were alive. Surely, if they were, he would have felt some evidence of consciousness so close to his own. “No, no that’s not—” he choked, unable to bring his thoughts into words.

“Well?” Pharma pried, unrelenting until he was answered properly. 

“It’s just—what we did,” Knock Out spit out. “We were told to. I didn’t—that’s not—” He choked on the words, losing himself to a chorus of muttered ‘no’s. 

Vaguely, he registered Pharma cycle through his vents and place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Well…fortunately for you, this shouldn’t last long.”

Knock Out reset his optics then stared at his mentor in confusion. “What?”

“The sparklet,” Pharma explained, “it needs materials and energy you alone can’t give it without extreme supplementing. That’s cause of all this; it’s drawing off you,” He rapped a knuckle on the pristine red plating neatly parted, signaling for them to close. “It’s weak, though. Leave it for a few cycles, and it should dissipate. Good thing, since we can’t terminate after six decacycles.”

Six…Knock Out did the calendar math but found nothing important enough to garner his memory that could have feasibly led to him making another person.

Pharma seemed to catch his mental math. “It looks like it’s about ten to eleven decacycles.”

Backtracking more, that placed the sparklet’s creation at some time during the Wreckers’ last stay on the base. Looking back, though, nothing extraordinary occurred then either. 

“Trying to figure out who the sire is?” Pharma asked and shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry over it.”

Knock Out squinted his optics in a question. 

“The sire…” Pharma clarified, “the mech you spark merged with?”

“Spark merged!” Knock Out exclaimed, optics widening to the plating’s limits. “ _That’s_ what causes this?” 

Whatever Pharma muttered to himself, it was too low to hear. “You’re intelligent,” he said louder. “ _Really_ intelligent. You _can’t_ have missed this during your education.”

Knock Out hesitated. “Is now as bad a time as any to mention I was uneducated until I enlisted?”

His mentor covered his mouth with a servo. “Really?”

“That’s a _stupid_ thing to lie about, now isn’t it?”

“I just—” Pharma threw his arms up. “Alright.” His servos found a home on his hips. “Let’s just finish up here so we can forget this entire ordeal,” Pharma said dismissively as he set to actually beginning the physical, deleting the scan. 

Let his mentor distract himself with routine tasks, Knock Out thought, as all the while he simmered in his circumstance. 

Knock Out rode through the remaining tests in a trance and absently accepted the medications to ease his fatigue and discomfort. By the time Pharma sent him away, he was no closer to knowing what it was he wanted to do.

First Aid rose as Knock Out left the room, intent on helping him, but Pharma only used the gesture to select the mechling as his next patient. As they passed, Aid reached out, concern laced in his field. 

Knock Out just batted away the offered servo. A curt explanation was thought up, but he wasn’t sure it ever left his vocalizer. Not that it mattered, to him at the least. His mind was so consumed by the consequences of his past actions it threatened to overwhelm him. 

Knock Out fled the medbay, heading straight to his room before the anxiety caught him.

It was a difficult thing to make Breakdown even remotely angry. But Whirl made it look easy. 

An insult was thrown. Then a fist. Soon enough, the rotary found himself thrown out the shuttle bay by a mech he so foolishly antagonized. 

Worst of it, it took them _joors_ to track Whirl down and even longer to get the pair cordial. Joors Breakdown could have spent snuggling with Knock Out. Even after all the airtime, he couldn’t bring himself to forgive anyone on his team for allowing the brawl. No one made any attempts to apologize, anyway, so he reserved the right to fester.

And to storm off as soon as Kup released them. None of the other Wreckers followed after him, knowing full and well where he was going and why. 

Breakdown tried to see the best in everyone. Honest. Because everyone was supposed to be created equal. So, he had the same basic expectations for everyone he met. Whirl, though, was getting under his plating like infectious rust. The mech just did not know when to shut up. It was one thing for his antics to get himself in trouble. It was another when said trouble affected _him_. 

The keypad to their barracks suffered his frustrations, but Breakdown hardly cared. He was steps away from the mech Whirl had kept him from. 

The room was eerily quiet and dim. None of the lights were on, no music was playing, no Knock Out was eagerly pouncing him. 

Any remaining irritation ebbed away, replaced by concern. Breakdown let his optics roam the room for any signs of a prank or surprise welcoming, but it didn’t appear anyone had been in the common room for some time. 

His vents stalled. The absolute worse-case scenarios immediately jumped to mind: Knock Out was jumped on his way here; his lover had been killed on the job and nobody thought to tell him; Knock Out was in stasis lock—

A sound from their quarters interrupted his internal tirade. 

Breakdown forced his mind to calm, approaching to the door and finding it unlocked. He knocked to signal his entry before sliding the door open. “Knock…”

The sight of the normally cool, composed mech sitting in a heap on the floor was entirely unexpected. 

Knock Out was leaned against the wall, legs pulled to himself like a shield. Coolant stains dripped down the handsome white face that peered up at him full of grief. He had been crying, that much Breakdown could clearly see. 

In two long strides, Breakdown was kneeling next to his distressed medic and searching for any signs of injury. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, wiping away a fresh tear. 

Knock Out just shook his head and avoided Breakdown’s gaze. His shoulders began to tremble, alerting his vents to kick on. 

Whatever it was, there would be no talking until Knock Out could calm down. So, Breakdown held his smaller lover close, leaning against the wall in solidarity. 

Eventually, the tears ceased their cascades, and his vents resumed a normal cycling. As Knock Out worked to composure, Breakdown rubbed a servo up and down his lover’s arm. 

“Okay,” Knock Out began, ex-venting heavily. “I have to tell you something.”

Not words anyone wanted to hear. This was it, Breakdown concluded, the moment this magnificent being realized he could do better. Their stunt was over. Or, worse yet, Knock Out was dying. Or—

“It’s not…bad.” Knock Out maneuvered in his arms so that his head rested neatly in the joint between Breakdown’s shoulder and arm. He had to readjust as Breakdown’s body sagged in relief. 

“Whatever it is,” Breakdown assured, clutching Knock Out a smidge tighter in the one armed hug, “I’m here to hear you.”

“I know,” Knock Out said, “this affects you as well.” He could feel more than see Knock Out’s frame tense with a nervous kind of anticipation. There was no time to think up new potentials as Knock Out blurted, “I’m carrying.”

For a solid nano-klick, nothing seemed very real. As Breakdown processed the term, the room fell away, replaced by unstable walls covered with paintings. The Knock Out beside him felt unsure in his confidence. Soft noises of blissful ignorance and uncorrupted adoration drowned out any violence outside their small home on the streets of Velocitron. 

All warm memories began to morph into vivid nightmares. The house came crashing down, screams wailed in his audios—

A hand was placed on his chest. It brought him back to the present, away from the darker thoughts plaguing him. 

Breakdown looked around their room, noting all the things that hadn’t changed before his eyes wondered down to the mech he held. There was empathy in his lover’s blue-screened eyes, and he found comfort in them, in knowing Knock Out felt the grief, too. 

“Really?” Breakdown asked, weak and overwhelmed with too many conflicting emotions.

Knock Out nodded solemnly, his hand on Breakdown’s chest curling. “Pharma did a quick scan.” His gaze flitted to various seams across the larger mech’s frame. “I didn’t—it manifests as a small spark in the beginning. Apparently. Of course, I didn’t…I had no idea…” 

Breakdown enveloped the hand curling tighter into a ball. “You can see it on scans?”

“You can see it for yourself,” Knock Out laughed, nervous energy getting the better of him. “Did _you_ know what sparklets look like? I certainly didn’t!” 

Before he could ask to elaborate, Knock Out was rambling. “They’re small balls of energy that sit right up next to the spark. Tiny, look like small growths.” The medic threw his servos out wildly. “And that’s something else I learned, today! I went my entire life believing some trick to eradicating a lie! Every ‘growth’ I ever removed they—they were _alive_. All of them.” The coolant reformed in lower lining of his optics. “It was never some basic maintenance, but how was I to know?”

No words really fit how to say what he felt. Breakdown had watched countless times little balls of energy leave Knock Out’s spark and had thought nothing of it. Guilt dictated he ought to feel ashamed, but he refused to. “You didn’t know,” he reassured, “neither of us did. It’s okay.”

“It’s _not_!” Knock Out wailed, turning a distraught look to him. “They were _alive_. Tiny little beings, same as _him_.”

“You can’t hurt yourself—”

“Imagine that you came back earlier. When you were supposed to,” he challenged. “I would’ve seen the little spark and ripped it right out of you. Red would have _never_ existed because I killed him before he could!”

The cut pierced something important, but Breakdown didn’t allow what Knock Out projected in his anguish to stay for very long in his mind. “But that’s not what hap—”

“And not all of them were even _yours_!” Knock Out’s vents hitched and cycled on. “They’re products of merges, Breakdown. Do you know how many of them couldn’t have possibly been made with you? _Most_.”

“Knock…”

“I don’t even know that I regret those.” He looked off at the far wall. “I wouldn’t want to create life with anyone _but_ you. But I did anyway and rid myself of the consequences.”

Breakdown twisted to grasp the smaller shoulders in both hands, shaking them with every punctuated word. “You. Did. Not. Know. Neither of us did. Otherwise, we would have done it all a bit different.” When Knock Out finally met his gaze, he said, “We can change now.”

Knock Out pulled a face, like he wanted something unrealistic to become the norm. “Going through with carrying this one hardly makes up for it. Besides, it’s not that easy.”

“Okay…how so?”

“It doesn’t stand a high chance, for one,” Knock Out explained, lifting a servo to count on. “There’s also a war going on, in case you forgot. On top of that, the Wrecker missions are dangerous. If something were to happen to you, right now, it’s reported to me as your doctor. But there’s no way I could keep the position once everyone realizes I have a conflict of interest. If I lose this job _and_ have a sparkling, I might never get the surgery position. So there goes one end of the bargain with Pharma—”

“All of these are easy fixes.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.”

“I’m serious!”

“What are you getting at?” Breakdown asked, becoming confused by the argument.

Knock Out worked his mouth a few times before speaking. “I just…look at what happened with Red. Breakdown, I can’t do that again.”

The memories threatened to resurface but were stifled with a harsh vent. “Me neither.”

“If I do nothing different for a while, then the sparklet is likely to fade on its own.”

“Okay,” Breakdown acknowledged, “What do we need to do to change that?”

Knock Out searched his intensions, scrutinizing his eyes. “You would be alright?”

Maybe, Breakdown thought. Maybe, through the whole processes, he would learn to be okay with another tiny form resting on him. 

But Knock Out needed absolutes. “Yes,” he said. “Could you, though?”

The thought lay heavy on Knock Out, giving a physical weight to his shoulders and helm. After a moment of reflection, he rose again, tears back to streaming through the seams. 

“I can’t lose another,” Knock Out answered, hushed and layered.

There was nothing to disagree on there. Breakdown allowed the thoughts of each and every supposed “energy growth” sink in. What would their names have been? Would they have all looked like his gorgeous love? Or perhaps, more like their brother? And the most terrifying thought, would Red have ever existed if the others had?

He had to admit to himself, though, that none of those imagined lives were reality. They had lost every creation, known and unknown. They had made far too many mistakes in their past. Now, things had to be different. If not for this sparkling, then for its siblings they would never have the chance to know.

Breakdown decided then and there. They would do everything within their power to do right by this new life.

“Alright…then what do we need to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Bit of a sad chapter (sorry), but it's necessary for understanding where these two come from and the problems with the pre-war society they lived in.  
> Stay tuned for a ticked off Pharma! 
> 
> Stay safe everyone! Stay kind!


	3. A Bit of Sunshine By My Side - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After deciding to keep the sparklet, Breakdown and Knock Out begin to face the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time reference: I set everything to work in tens, so ten decacycles is one orn, then ten orns is one vorn. Carrying full term I mark as a thirteen orn process.

The day had gone fairly well for Pharma. Several new patients were critically injured, which meant he could restock several supplies and deliver all that was required. The collection was scheduled to be completed during the night shift, as was their usual. So, it was only a matter of waiting for the majority of his underlings’ shifts to end.

Knock Out had been idling in his office, awaiting his details, when he sought to ruin all of Pharma’s careful planning. And his office.

Pharma glared at the unprocessed energon covering the floor, then glanced at its source in betrayal. He wasn’t squeamish, of course, but he was not a fan of this side effect of Cybertronian anatomy. Purging was an ugly, primitive act, ill suiting the likes of someone as classic as Knock Out.

Nonetheless, there the mech stood: bent over and venting harshly after the ordeal. And with the nerve to look stunned.

“Waste bin?” Pharma offered, toneless.

Knock Out made to chuckle back a retort, but he choked the moment he opened his mouth. Failing to contain himself, he coughed and heaved, fortunately not releasing any more contents of his fuel tank.

“If you purge all over our work later, it will be your finish to suffer.”

“Shut up,” Knock Out bit out, voice rough and labored.

“Not likely.” Pharma reached into a desk drawer to retrieve sanitary wipes, tossing the container at his ill compatriot. “Clean that up.”

The container was caught in wobbly hands that then proceeded to use its contents on their owner’s frame, instead.

The motions drew his attention to Knock Out’s sleek chassis. It was a pretty thing, designed to please visual sensors and fit against most all frame types. A key element of that was the seamless transition from one plate to another. But as hands wiped down the red chassis, Pharma noticed the gaps. Plating joined in flawed lines. Subtle ones, completely unseen if one wasn’t looking.

Pharma carried the observation into the operations. One by one, the two worked to gut the bodies and organize their spoils. All the while, the visible seams stood out like biolights.

A thought occurred to him on their fourth body. A near implausible thought, but it lingered there in the forefront of his mind. A reason for the plating to spread apart.

It festered in him through the rest of the dissections, becoming more and more of a likelihood. And the simplest way to test its validity?

“What are you—” Knock Out tried to swat Pharma away, but the senior medic was larger and anticipated resistance. The sensitive scanner continued its travel, Pharma moving it down the red frame from chest to pelvis.

Without a word, he analyzed the findings once the device beeped its completion.

If only looks could maim. Pharma settled for scaring.

“Knock Out…”

The mech under scrutiny widened his optics until they were nearly bulging out their sockets. Good then, Pharma thought. He knew what he was in for.

“Something the matter?” Knock Out asked, trying for innocently clueless, smile and all.

It did him no favors. “I thought you were ridding yourself of it?”

“Oh!” Knock Out exclaimed, as though he was only just then catching on. “Well, you see, I did all I could, but the little bother must not have wanted to leave.” He glanced at anything that wasn’t Pharma, gesturing with a roll of his servo in explanation.

“ _All_ you could?”

“Well…abstinence was out of the question.”

Pharma seized the pitiful medic by the shoulder, shoving the scanner’s results in his face. “Do you understand just what this _is_? A setback!” He released the shoulder to indicate the large mass on the image. “It has a spark chamber now! A very _large_ spark chamber! Unless we do something drastic, you’re stuck with it.”

Knock Out locked on to the readings, staring with a strange emotion behind his eyes. “Maybe…perhaps this won’t be as bad as you may think.”

“It won’t, now?” Pharma threw the scanner aside, so his underling’s attention was forced onto him. “Do explain just how a sparkling won’t put our plans on hold.”

“The, uh, the sire is very much involved, so I won’t need to watch him all cycle.”

Pharma hummed at the choice of wording. “The sire knows, does he?”

Knock Out must have caught his tone. He seemed to backtrack, searching for where he went wrong. “…yes?”

“Is he forcing you to kept it?”

“No!” Knock Out denied quickly. “No, he’s not that type.”

The truth was emerging. “So, you both decided then?”

And Knock Out realized it far too late. He visibly panicked, fiddling with his servos and working his mouth to form some kind of excuse, to no avail.

He let the medic fluster as he considered their new circumstances. If Knock Out was truly planning on keeping and raising the nuisance, that meant there would be a period in which he would not have his assistant. Even after the sparkling’s emergence, its carrier’s free time would be occupied by its needs rather than Pharma’s.

A new student could be taken on, but the chances of there being another of a similar mind to Knock Out and Faultline was low. No, this was no reason to risk his operation. Especially with all his responsibilities…

Now, there was a thought. Or rather, an advantage.

“Alright, Knock Out,” Pharma said smoothly, emphasizing the name with faux calm. “I see that you intend to keep it. While I, myself, have no real qualms, this will pose a challenge for you. Especially for your career.”

Knock Out extended a hand in a show of offering. “That I am fully aware of and have several solutions to—”

“I have one.”

Just as Pharma expected, Knock Out latched on to the opportunity to redeem himself with very little effort.

“I have a proposition for you…” Pharma began, moving away to pace around the operating slab and the empty body atop it. “There exists an opening. A means of reaching a higher order of my respects.” He caressed the body’s arm as he walked. “Our facilities are not the only thing in need of our retrievals.” Pharma cupped the lifeless head between both hands. “Some are willing to bargain for certain…aspects of the frame.”

Knock Out recoiled like he was flicked in the helm. “I am _not_ fragging anyone.”

“What? No—” Pharma shook his head “—no, I mean I have a buyer, of sorts.”

“Oh.” The carrier stepped closer now that his mind was at ease. “And you want me to make the deliveries?”

Pharma grinned, glad to be reminded that Knock Out possessed some intellect. “I’ll travel with you for a few trial runs, then I expect you to go in my stead. In return, I secure a place for you here.” Pharma rose to his full height, broadening his chest in a display of dominance.

“Sounds too simple,” Knock Out accused. “Just who are we selling parts to?”

“Agree to the terms first.”

“Fine, I’m in.”

“Decepticons.”

Knock Out’s optics widened comically again.

“You see,” he began explaining, “there is a small camp instructed to spy on our base. The only reason they don’t? They’re addicted to innermost energon.” Pharma raised a proud servo to indicate himself. “And I happen to be their only supplier.”

If Knock Out wondered just how it was he knew of the Decepticon presence in time to set up such a deal, he was wise enough not to ask.

“Where do I meet them?” he asked instead.

“Details are to be given on the day of delivery. For now, relish in knowing you have a favor I owe you.”

“I know how to spend it.”

“Good,” Pharma mocked. “Wouldn’t want my favorite wasting such an opportunity.”

“Just ensure my poor decision isn’t the end of my career,” Knock Out retorted. “Are we done here?”

Pharma dismissed him with a wave, and he turned to saunter off.

Another thought occurred to him. “Knock Out?”

The mech paused and looked over his shoulder to face him.

“Getting fragged senseless can’t have been the only way you got the sparklet that much stronger.”

One of his winglets covered much of his lower face, but Pharma could make out from the look in Knock Out’s eyes that he was grinning something mischievous. “It’s all too easy to sneak med-grade out of here, Pharma. Among other things.” He gave a coy shrug and swayed his hips teasingly as he left the operating theatre.

If there was one thing Knock Out was always in the mood for, it was a good buffing.

With his emotions swimming in all directions as his programs sorted themselves out, Knock Out came to appreciate the calming effect the self-care provided. It offered him sensory input without actually being touched. It gave him the glorious sense of being clean. It made him feel _good_ about the way he looked, especially with Breakdown behind the rotary.

And especially with all the changes he was undergoing.

The encounter with Pharma last decacycle had him on edge. Sure, purging in his superior’s office might have clued him in to something being wrong, but Knock Out didn’t miss the way Pharma had stared at him. He spent the rest of his night battling insomnia and trying to figure out what had made his condition so obvious.

It was a little more noticeable now. His transformation seams were spreading wider into very notable lines across his torso and upper legs, the fuel lines beneath expanding to prepare for transporting more fuel to the chamber in his middle.

Breakdown claimed he hadn’t noticed, but he was a terrible liar. In fact, Knock Out was pretty sure he was enjoying it, if the hand working his aft was any indication.

His lover knelt on the ground in front of him, one hand working the buffer while the other worked wonders through a message. They had planned ahead for this, having burned through as much of their charge before the session, but that hadn’t seemed to work as well as it normally did.

No, he wasn’t sated nearly enough to make it through. The buffer was vibrating the plating near his pelvis, and that hand was exploring all the newly accessible seams. Knock Out lulled his helm back, soaking in the sensations playing across his sensitive frame. All worries concerning work faded in the company of such sweet bliss.

He grabbed a hold of Breakdown’s helm and dragged it closer to his frame. His intensions fully understood, Breakdown peppered his frame with light kisses. Each sent a charge buzzing through him, setting his whole frame alight.

Breakdown replaced the buffer with another hand, a bad call, Knock Out thought, until the hand began to roam. It rubbed circles along his abdomen, then fanned out across his front as the kisses trailed up his hip to meet it. The other hand, meanwhile, continued its wonderful efforts down his aft and leg.

It all abruptly ended. Knock Out held on for a klick, thinking Breakdown was attempting some sort of foreplay, but the idea was crushed when the hand covering his front moved again, lacking all the sense of exploration.

He opened his eyes, slowly lowering his disappointed gaze to the blue mech beneath him. Breakdown was investigating something on him, seeming completely recovered already while Knock Out’s frame begged for attention.

“What are you doing?”

Breakdown didn’t look up, opting to continue his bizarre probing. “Looking at something.”

“How nice,” Knock Out said, deadpanned. “Think you can multitask?”

A second hand joined the one on his waist, rubbing the plating with a thumb. After a moment of analyzing the motion, Breakdown lifted his gaze to Knock Out, beaming brighter than he had ever witnessed.

“He’s real!” Breakdown announced, as if Knock Out was supposed to know what that meant.

He allowed his confusion to flood his field, mingled with Breakdown’s more excited one.

To emphasize his point, Breakdown tapped his abdomen. “You got a little thicker, babe. See?”

One of the hands on Breakdown’s helm was removed and placed on his front. Breakdown guided it over the place of interest. Sure enough, Knock Out could feel a small distension there. A minor raise in the plating, as if his entire torso was being pushed outward.

Knock Out moved to place his other hand among those gathered on the little evidence of life within him, staring at his frame in wonder. Breakdown’s smile refused to faulter even as he shoved his face between their hands to kiss the plating.

“Hey little bit,” he whispered, voice filled with a love Knock Out had only encountered in him once. It had his spark spinning faster, exciting the sparklet attached to it. He removed a hand to cup Breakdown’s face, lifting it to meet his gaze.

They stared one another in a silent exchange. It was equal parts exciting and nerve racking to begin to realize what they had done, but Breakdown’s innocent eyes softened Knock Out’s gravest concerns.

“You feel okay?” Breakdown asked. “That data pad you stole said it wasn’t likely you’d do more than bloat a bit at the end.”

That much was true. Theoretically, were he to have created with someone of his own frame type, he wouldn’t display many signs at all. But here he was, merely thirty decacycles in and already becoming obnoxious.

Was it cause for concern? Probably. Was he going to deal with it right then? Of course not.

“Well, I’m little inconvenienced,” he sang, rolling his hips to drive home the point.

Fortunately for him, Breakdown was anything but daft.

They waited till nightfall.

There was a shift change scheduled in a joor, and that was when Pharma planned to leave. They would have exactly five joors after that to meet with their suppliers and return to base in time for the next shift change.

It was all very meticulous. Not that Knock Out expected any less of his mentor. The schedule gave him a strange sense of peace in that there was no guesswork involved in just what would occur. The only thing to simmer over was how the actual exchange would go down. Though, if Pharma was to be believed, the Decepticons were fair buyers.

Breakdown being away both helped and left him with an unpleasant ache. Knock Out focused on the positives: the entire run was much simpler if his lover wasn’t worrying over where he was and what he was up to.

Pharma gestured to a case containing their goods, looking off to read his chronometer. “Let’s go.”

Knock Out prioritized action over question. He grabbed his two cases then looked expectantly to the flyer. Without another word, Pharma fled the room, two cases of his own gripped by the handles in one long hand. Knock Out loyally followed.

They walked out a back entrance to the base, built with invasions in mind. Should an enemy approach from any angle, there were strategic exists for its resident warriors to charge out and attack.

The irony formed a grin across Knock Out’s handsome features.

As the mech on monitor duty switched posts with the next shift’s, the pair walked right under the security cameras. They were careful not to be captured in those recording, but no reason for video scrutiny was left in their wake.

Luna 2 hung bright in the dark sky, watching as a jet and a speedster raced through the flat landscape until they came across a shallow valley. Far enough away to not be seen either visually or on the Autobot base’s radar. Close enough that life signals appeared essentially on top of the Kima base.

Knock Out had to admit to the thrill of it all. And the long drive was doing wonders to his psyche. The feel of the wind slicing across his front, the rumbling of his engine, the weightlessness of speeding. He couldn’t remember the last time he drove so hard and fast, and he wondered idly why he hadn’t made time lately for such pleasures.

The answer came in the form of his churning fuel tank.

“There, there,” Pharma huffed sarcastically, patting his back for good measure.

Knock Out heaved again, failing in his effort to sass the fool.

Eventually, his frame recalibrated itself, allowing him to vent properly and open his mouth without fear.

“So,” Pharma cheered, “driving at a law breaking speed isn’t great for you.”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know how _I_ couldn’t have figured that out.” Knock Out shot the flyer an irritated look.

Pharma shrugged. “You never know. Some of the brightest minds are utter idiots.” He didn’t pause long enough for Knock Out to think of a clever retort, wondering off back to the four case thrown to the ground. “The rendezvous is just down here. They hide out in a cave nearby, but this is where we meet.”

Knock Out filed away the information. “Do we need to signal them or something?”

“I’m sure your retching alerted them just fine,” Pharma mocked, earning him a moody glare. “Typically, no. You show up on time and wait.”

The decent into the valley was not quite the ordeal Knock Out initially expected. The land sloped slowly, giving him a calm ramp to walk down to the valley floor. Pharma stayed close by, glancing back at him every so often as they navigated the jagged metal. For a moment, Knock Out considered that his mentor cared about his and his sparkling’s wellbeing. Surely, the flyer didn’t need to walk with him. But the thought that he was acting from a place of selflessness sat uncomfortably in his mind.

It did raise another of his concerns. Knock Out placed a hand over his chest as they walked, right above his spark chamber and the smaller spark still connected to it. The hushed pulses of curiosity and devotion from the small life reminded Knock Out to be cautious. Let Pharma take the lead. Only speak if spoken to.

The two stood in the flat expanse of the valley floor for nearly a joor. Waiting. It was long enough for Knock Out to seriously consider sitting on the ground, dirty as it was. Fortunately, two large forms appeared in the distance before he ruined his flawless finish.

The first he saw of the Decepticons were their eyes. Bright, glowing red orbs piercing the otherwise dark horizon. It might have been an unnerving sight to any other Autobot, but Knock Out saw no need for fear in their crimson hues. They looked hungry though. A look Knock Out had experienced directed at him more times than he cared to remember. Those eyes told him long before their owners properly approached them that the pair where seeking a certain temptation, driven by an obsessive need for relief.

Knock Out’s first impressions of the two failed to improve the closer they came. They were large, though not much more so than Breakdown, and well equipped. And they were utterly revolting. Improperly repaired wounds roamed their frames as hideous, infected scars. One mech’s optic flickered distractingly with every step. The other had a sizable dent in the side of his helm, no doubt hitting against his processor.

It took every bit of self-preservation in him not to grimace, especially as the two finally paused several paces away. Staring was, perhaps, not the politest, but Knock Out decided it better than the variety of expressions his face was attempting to pull.

The dented mech was the first to address them, tilting his chin to them and grinning humorlessly. “What you got there, ‘Bot?”

“A colleague,” Pharma answered matter-of-factly. “He’s the reason your supply gets collected in the first place.”

Knock Out didn’t break his gaze with the odd pair, nodding and trying his best to appear like he knew all the details. It would pay to show control now before Pharma left him to conduct these runs himself.

“You getting too many involved?” the other asked, his optic flickering again as he spoke.

“Don’t go believing we’re friends, ‘Cons,” Pharma mocked, spitting their affiliation like he perceived them as lower beings. “There are benefits involved, not trust. I will do all I need to fulfill my end so long as it suits me.”

“And as long as we do our part,” the dented mech finished. “That’s fair. Just don’t get cocky and frag up the whole thing.”

“Nonsense,” Pharma said, nearly speaking down to the two brutes. “But do get used to this face. He’ll be doing my dirty work, now.”

Knock Out stood a little straighter, smiling coolly.

That optic flickered again as its owner smiled back, every aspect of his body language blatantly displaying intent. “Not a hard face to get used to.”

“Quite taken, my dear,” Knock Out sang, shaking his head slowly in a mimic of the tone Pharma had set.

“Too bad,” he replied, then flicked his gaze to the cases he and his companion were there to retrieve.

He expected at least a little more resistance than that, but no. The two Decepticons stepped closer, Pharma handed over the goods, and the pair walked off with quick nod and a wave. Knock Out spent the entire exchange recalling his various comebacks to further advances, only to find he never had to use them.

How strange, he thought as he watched the pair disappear into the night, that disgusting Decepticon addicts had better manners than the majority of the Kima base’s Autobot residents.

They waited until they were sure the Decepticons had left before they backtracked up the slope.

“They seem…worse for wear,” Knock Out commented.

“If they had a medic with them at the sight, he’s either dead or terrible at his job,” Pharma replied, then looked Knock Out over. “Repair isn’t part of the deal.”

“I expected not,” Knock Out assured, waving a servo in a rolling gesture. “I just found it _odd_ that the Decepticons would simply leave their troops in such a state.”

As they reached the top of the valley wall, Pharma turned to face him, crossing his servos over his chest. “Thinking can be dangerous.”

“Not about them, no,” Knock Out elaborated, placing one hand on a hip and gesturing with the other. “Just consider, though, if an _Autobot_ unit was left alone like that. If there was no medic within reach, what choice would they have but to offline themselves, die a hideous death, or find alternatives to the pain?” He paced around his superior as if lost in thought. “Now, consider the scenario if at least one soldier was trained in first aid.”

“That’s what field medics are for,” Pharma countered, sounding already exhausted by his antics.

Knock Out paused, turning just enough to face him. “But you said it yourself, that their medic is probably dead. I think you and I are smart enough to know a doctor is not made to last in a warzone.”

Pharma actually seemed to consider the point and its validity, which only suited Knock Out purposes.

“Fine,” the flyer finally conceded, “try this idea of yours on your Wreckers and see whether it changes their mortality rate by any significant degree.” And with that, Pharma spun around and transformed to take off toward Kima.

“With pleasure,” Knock Out sang to the empty air. He transformed, following just under the flyer’s path at a more reasonable speed than earlier.

His spark spun at the prospect of getting exactly what he wanted once again. Breakdown, he knew, would catch on to the training, and hopefully the rest of his unit would as well. It would all further ensure his lover could return to him in one piece. Or, at the least, in a stabilized condition.

Soft pulses sounding through his spark reminded him of another task to add to his list. If he would be expected to continue smuggling innermost energon to two brutish Decepticons, he needed a certain amount of protection. He was a creator now. His life was not just his own.

Pharma, however, could never accept just anyone to accompany him. But…the person who could, by law, stay by him in most any situation?

A Conjunx Endura was not someone Pharma could deny.

He awoke to a mech with a face mask and blue visor hovering above him. As his vision began to clear, Knock Out recognized the covered features.

“Why hello, Aid,” he greeted, brushing aside his mild confusion of what the youngling was doing in his room.

“Knock Out? Are you in any pain?” Aid asked, the tone laced in his voice the only indication he was concerned.

“Is there any reason I should be?”

“You collapsed, dumbaft.”

That voice…its familiar, annoying sound started a small fire in Knock Out. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“Allodyn is on shift with us?” First Aid answered.

Shift…Knock Out moved his gaze around the room. He was met not with the sight of his and Breakdown’s few possessions but the stark walls and bright lights of the medbay.

The revelation had him trying to sit up, against First Aid’s meek efforts. The action caused his vision to distort for a klick, but the position afforded him a better assessment of his surroundings. Several mildly injured soldiers were sitting on medical slabs, awaiting treatment, all optics on the scene he had caused.

“Knock Out?” Aid called, getting his attention. “I shot a comm to Pharma—”

“Which is a waste of his time,” Allodyn added in. “Attention-seekers are never actually injured.”

“We have a duty of unbiased care—”

“It’s not biased if it’s a continued behavior.”

“Name _one_ instant—”

“Shut up!” Knock Out exclaimed, clutching his chest. He was becoming increasingly more aware of a burning sensation there that traveled down to his abdomen. Fear flooded him, invading his EM field as he failed to contain it. “Not right…” he muttered.

“What isn’t?” Aid interrogated, loosening his hold on Knock Out’s arm to allow his friend the chance to choose a position.

Knock Out just made a grunting noise as he settled back against the floor. His vision blurred again, so he concentrated on the ceiling details.

“His chest is burning up,” he heard Aid comment. A truly insightful deduction.

“Frag. Yeah, it’s hot,” Allodyn agreed. Knock Out forced the repulsive idea of the hideous excuse of a person touching him out of his mind. He couldn’t feel anything external anyway.

The burning grew into something resembling tearing. It wasn’t quite pain, but it was a far cry from pleasant. Knock Out closed his eyes, trying to give in to stasis.

“No, no, no, no, please stay awake!” Aid begged, shaking him back to wakefulness.

But his body was going numb, consumed in the fire of his internals. Something in him tore apart and broke. Not…damaged, just altered. The broken mess burned through the rest of his chassis, falling deeper within him.

And just like that, it ended. The need for the sweet bliss of stasis faded away, replaced by extreme alertness. All the fire in his systems cooled. So, he tested his frame, moving to sit himself up once more.

Only to feel something in him stir.

A highly undignified noise escaped him, his hand flying to his waist where he was suddenly sure an organ was falling apart inside him.

Aid unhelpfully placed both his hands on him, one supporting his back, the other back on his shoulder. “Are you alert?”

Knock Out spared the poor kid a glance. “Was I not earlier?”

“For about five breems, no.” The familiar tone from Pharma eased his mind, somewhat. If Pharma was acting casual, then he was fine. Or at least, not bound to die within the joor.

Knock Out looked around to discover a multitude of optics staring at him in his new wakeful state. He was literally in the middle of the main room, Pharma and Aid kneeling next to him equipped with scanners and several monitors. One Knock Out immediately recognized as a spark reader, the screen displaying three wavelengths in healthy oscillations.

“Well,” Knock Out said, testing his voice. He reset his vocalizer to steady his tone. “Not much I could do about that.”

“Knock Out,” Pharma said with an air of uncharacteristic caution. “We’re setting you up in a room to monitor you. You’re not leaving until a specialist looks you over.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. Looking over at Aid did him no favors as the youngling’s look of fright and uncertainty overrode his facial coverings. Another unnerving shift of his internals was all the push he needed to nod in compliance.

Breakdown was sure he could stare at the image forever and then some.

“It’s less cute if you’re on the receiving end of things,” Knock Out teased from his place on the medical berth.

“No, it isn’t,” Breakdown teased right back, beaming down at the now-second most beautiful sight in the world. “You think they look fascinating.”

“No,” Knock Out sang, “I think they look freakish.”

“Same thing,” he retorted, twisting back to stare at the monitor.

Greenlight laughed lightly. “Have to agree, sparklings are scaring looking undeveloped,” she commented, sparking a sound of victory from Knock Out.

Breakdown spared the femme medic a quick smirk, enjoying her causal, playful attitude. After the entire ordeal to get both of them here, he was glad she seemed not only competent but able to get along with his lover.

First, it had been a struggle allowing him into the medbay. The Wreckers’ had all received calls alerting them of Knock Out’s collapse, but none of them qualified to stay in the room his lover was placed in. It was exactly the kind of situation Knock Out had voiced a concern over and served as one of the many reasons filing as each other’s conjunx was a sound idea. It had taken a kind mech with facial coverings recognizing who he was asking about for Breakdown to finally be escorted in, but there was no guarantee that luck would happen again.

Then, an ordeal of transferring Greenlight to Kima created a nightmare of policies and contracts that made absolutely no sense to him. She wasn’t being forced over, either. It seemed to be issues within the command system that resulted in Knock Out (and by extension, him) staying cooped up in a private medical room for four cycles awaiting her.

It was completely worth the wait, though, to see the little mess of circuitry and plating that was the beginnings of their sparklings.

“Both spark chambers look fine, and the visual confirms my earlier scans of the sparks integrating without any issues,” Greenlight explained. “That I can see, at least.”

Breakdown looked over at the femme sitting next his lover. “There could still be issues?”

Greenlight glanced between him and Knock Out and shrugged. “I was a pediatrician before the war. Carrying isn’t exactly my specialty, so I’m flying off what I’ve read up on and seen recently and what I remember from my development courses.”

“She’s the best option, babe,” Knock Out reassured, reaching out to lay a hand on his forearm.

“Really, I’m more concerned with space,” Greenlight clarified. “I’ll be very clear with you two, these guys are big.” She stood up to point at sections of the screen. “Each spark chamber is sizing at almost fifty-five decacycles, but their actual developmental milestones are around forty.” She indicated the two intricate spheres and the partially formed frames and processors. “But honestly, given you,” she gestured at Breakdown’s hulking mass, “this isn’t a surprise. But it won’t feel great, and we’ll want them out a little early.”

“Lovely,” Knock Out commented sarcastically. Despite his tone, he was absently running a servo down the small distension. “But otherwise, I’m cleared for now?”

“Until an orn from now, yes.” Greenlight set about turning off the monitors and scanner, passing a data pad with the captures and notes to Breakdown. “Keep up the energy and material transfers, but maybe tone it down a little,” she instructed with a laugh.

Breakdown nodded, staring down at the data pad. The idea that their try at happiness was going to cause the love of his life unnecessary pain didn’t leave him. He couldn’t fathom reconciling his desires just yet.

So, Breakdown filed away the debate for another time, preferring to grin at Knock Out’s overly dramatic move to stand and the way his abdomen plating refused to twist with him.

“I have no idea what could’ve possessed you to think this was a good idea.”

Knock Out side-eyed the youngling, mildly offended.

“ _I_ have no idea why our soldiers aren’t already instructed in basic aid,” he retorted. “It makes far more sense, at least to me, for the people able to last on the battle field to know how to stabilize a comrade.”

“But that’s what field medics are for,” First Aid argued.

“If you knew how many field medics my unit has gone through, you would understand how useless they can be.”

“ _I_ was a field medic during my training,” Aid halted, so he could face Knock Out fully. “I saved countless lives.”

Knock Out stopped a stride ahead, pettily refusing to twist around to face Aid. “I have no doubt you did,” he said in a calming way, “but you have to admit to the dangers of a non-combatant being thrown into the fray.”

Aid didn’t comment to that, proving to Knock Out just how right he was. Field medics had their place in war, but capable soldiers could provide their side a certain edge.

Wherever else the conversation was leading, it was interrupted by a boisterous disturbance at the main entrance. Fourteen massive, heavily armored mechs pushed through into the open space of the medbay foyer, a small receptionist running in after them to cut off their path.

“I told you! You can’t just barge in!” the lithe mech cried, waving at the entourage to stop.

“But we have an appointment, mech,” Seaspray argued, stomping toward the poor thing to threaten him. It certainly worked, sending the receptionist back pedaling to get away from the mass of harpoons and guns.

Knock Out cycled his vents loudly, exhausted already by the task he had given himself. The sound caught Breakdown’s attention, and the blue bruiser pushed the others out the way to approach him, adding to the receptionist’s anxiety.

“It’s alright, they’re mine,” Knock Out clarified, waving away the frightened mech’s protests. “They’re uncivilized, I’m aware. It’s a work in progress.”

He didn’t hide his smile as Breakdown closed the gap between them, enveloping him in an overly gentle hug. Their sire’s closeness prompted both sparklings to pulse at them excitedly over the bonds, accompanied by energetic movements.

“Good day, babe?” Breakdown asked, rubbing a servo up and down his side in a failed effort to calm the two wiggling masses.

An obnoxious laugh pierced their little moment. “You got yourself a whole unit of overeager brutes?”

Knock Out tried to ignore Allodyn’s snide remark, but the chorus of snickers that followed had him pushing away from Breakdown to glare at the medbay’s other occupants.

“Gross,” Whirl said, stepping out and looking for all the world like he wanted to stab someone. The thought of letting him jab a claw through Allodyn appeared, and Knock Out struggled to think of a reason to make it leave.

“We really have to be here, Knocks?” Rotorstorm asked, rubbing at the back of his helm.

“Yeah, I don’t get the sense we’re welcome,” Bulkhead added, glaring at the medics hard enough to stifle their snickers.

Breakdown twisted around to face his team, not releasing his hold on Knock Out’s waist. “Kup said we have to. He liked Knock Out’s idea.”

Whirl waved a clawed hand in a flamboyant dismissal, waltzing off in a random direction further into the medbay. “Bow to the wishes of the one and only Knock Out!” he sang.

“Listen to Whirl, all of you,” Knock Out commanded with no small amount of sass. “But don’t follow him. Instruction rooms are this way.”

Twelve very unenthusiastic grunts of compliance filled the foyer, all fourteen Wreckers dutifully following their sleek little medic through the wings of the medical facility.

He hadn’t graced the instruction rooms with his presence since his training and time as a resident. They were spacious enough to comfortably fit thirty average sized frames and were equipped with all the necessary diagrams, models, and tools for basic first aid. And currently, they were sitting unused.

With the war in full swing, it wasn’t like there was anyone left to enlist. It was part of the reason, Knock Out believed, that command approved his concept. If there was no one left to train, then they had a great deal of wasted supplies and space.

“Alright!” Knock Out called out, moving to the front of the room. “We’ll go over a few basic principles all field medics are required to know—”

“We aren’t educated, mech,” Seaspray laughed, as though any one of them being capable of learning was impossible to even imagine.

“You don’t need to know the ‘why’s and much as the ‘how’s,” Knock Out explained. He yanked open a cabinet to search for a model.

“When do we cut people open?” Whirl asked.

“When there’s a ‘Con in front of you,” he answered sarcastically, then waved for his conjunx.

Breakdown appeared behind him, placing his large hands on Knock Out’s hips. “What you need?”

Knock Out stepped back to lean against him and pointed at the object coiled in the cabinet. “Greenlight said I shouldn’t lift very much.”

“Yeah, no, that’s what you got me for,” Breakdown assured as he lightly pushed him aside to retrieve the item.

It was a life-sized model of a common frame type, colored a hideous grey and essentially featureless save the slits representing vents and the holes for hands to reach into.

A wide variety of reactions suddenly took place. At least three Wreckers recoiled violently as the model was flopped onto the main table. Four or so made undignified noises. Three others nearly lost their optics as they bulged in surprise at the supposed dead body. Two showed absolutely no reaction. One in particular, though, smiled brightly at the help he provided.

“It’s…it’s fake,” Knock Out explained slowly, poking at the semi-hard mesh. A smile threatened to cross him, though, seeing how alert a simple model made most of his unit.

“What’s it for?” Impactor asked, mimicking him by poking at the model’s shoulder plating.

“Well, we’ll be using it to show how to remove obstructions,” Knock Out said as he held up a bag of several metal spheres and ovals. “Because _some_ people have an oddly high tendency to get things lodged in uncomfortable places.”

The room erupted into a chorus of laughter, save one jokingly offended Broadside.

Knock Out handed the metal objects to the Wreckers standing next to him. “As Breakdown and Impactor shove these into the holes,” he began, earning himself a few immature snickers, “let’s understand the two types of obstructions one can have.”

Seaspray raised a hand. “What happened to no learning?”

“Don’t twist my words,” Knock Out teased. “I said I’d teach you the ‘how’s, so let me.” The watery Wrecker lowered his hand. “Now, there are two types: those you want to leave in, and those you want to remove.”

He pointed to several areas along the body of the model, trailing from the center of its chest down its limbs and neck. “What do you think all these places have in common?”

“Major fuel lines,” Breakdown answered without a moment’s thought.

“Right! If you stick something in one of those, should you yank it out?”

A chorus of hesitant ‘no’s brought a genuine smile to Knock Out’s face. This wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as everyone thought. “Good! The basic principle is if the obstruction is lodged or piercing fuel lines, leave it.”

“How do you know something’s lodged?” Impactor asked. “ _I_ know we shoved stuff in there, but I can’t really see any the balls.”

“Excellent point!” Knock Out praised, affording him a klick to figure out how to explain. He suddenly wished Aid had let him conduct a trial run on him. “Well…you can feel it.”

Whirl suddenly poked his head in-between Bulkhead and Pyro. “You can?”

“Well…” Knock Out gestured weakly to the model, “yeah. A foreign object not meant to exist in the frame will feel like something out of place when you push on it.”

“And that’s different from say…a broken strut? Or an organ moved?” Impactor questioned.

“An organ won’t move, an object lodged in you will to some extent,” Knock Out explained. “Either way, don’t remove it.”

Whirl pressed down, minding his claws, on the model’s form just above one of the spheres. “Huh,” he muttered. “It jiggles.”

Several hands jutted out to squeeze and prod the model, resulting in more muttered noises of realization.

“What’s an organ like, then?” Seaspray asked. “These things feel pretty in there.”

Knock Out’s processor stalled at the question. It wasn’t like med-students asked such trivial inquiries, so they had no proxy for replicating a body filled with organs. He scrambled, looking around for something to use as an example.

Movement in his abdomen gave him an odd idea.

“Here,” Knock Out said, walking around the table to stand in front of Seaspray with an outstretched hand. “Give me your servo.” The larger mech cautiously lifted one, unsure just what the medic would make him do.

Knock Out seized it and placed the palm against his distended middle. “Push with your fingers.”

Seaspray looked about ready to bolt.

“Go on,” Knock Out encouraged.

The mech glanced nervously between the insistent medic and Breakdown, who was standing significantly straighter.

Knock Out pulled a sarcastic face. “I’ll know if you’re pushing on them too hard and promise not to let you harm them.”

Seaspray nodded and carefully applied a little pressure, steadily increasing it as Knock Out pushed on his hand in encouragement. The harpooner gained some confidence, beginning to prod the border of Knock Out’s gestation chamber in a large circle around his middle.

“Huh,” he said, pressing his palm against the side of the raised frame. “Yeah, that’s not going anywhere.”

“Well, yeah,” Breakdown piped up, discomfort clear in his voice. He shuffled to stand just behind his lover. “Organs are wrapped up in circuitry and fuel lines. They shouldn’t move unless you’re transforming.”

Seaspray jolted away as the sparklings erupted into a flurry of movement.

“The frag is that?” he yelled, a solid five paces away now, having shoved his comrades out of the way.

Knock Out glanced down at his middle then back up the frightened warrior. “Does this really require an explanation?”

“Can you feel the bodies or something?” Whirl asked Seaspray.

The harpooner shook his helm sharply. “It fragging _moved_.”

Breakdown gestured at Knock Out, confusion written all over him. “They do that, yeah.”

“A _lot_ ,” Knock Out added, rubbing at his abdomen to calm them.

Several horrified faces looked between him, Breakdown, and each other, as if to ask if the statement was true and whether anyone else was just as clueless.

“They can _move_?”

“Like, punching or kicking?”

“That sounds like it would hurt, no.”

“Primus, do they _stretch_?”

Knock Out opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, entirely unsure what to make of the room of clueless mechs. He and Breakdown had been among them before sparking, but Knock Out had been so firm in his belief that their ignorance was due to their origins on Velocitron and, thus, their inability to receive educations. But every one of these mechs had supposedly been entitled to well-rounded schooling pre-war. And yet, here they all were.

“Yes, they move,” Knock Out began, “and eventually they’ll start kicking and such. Right now, all they can really do is stretch.”

“And roll around a bit,” Breakdown added.

Impactor shuffled a little closer, a question clear in his shy movements.

Knock Out smirked and extended a servo to him. “Come here.”

The larger mech approached him softly, offering his servo to be guided onto the extended plating. They waited, Knock Out’s hand atop Impactor’s, for the sparklings to start up again.

“They stop?” Breakdown asked after a few klicks of silence.

Knock Out hummed his confirmation.

“They get tired easy,” Breakdown explained to Impactor’s unasked question. He placed his own hand next to his friend’s and knelt to bring his face level with his lover’s middle. “You two still up?” he asked in the calm, clear tone he adopted only when speaking to the them.

“They can _hear_?” Impactor asked, sounding a little unnerved.

“Yup!” Breakdown responded excitedly. “You both got little audio receptors that only pick up deep pitches with big vibrations, huh?” Knock Out chuckled as Breakdown received a small thud in response. The rumbling sound spurred another round of tossing and turning.

Impactor deadpanned a screaming sound, optics blowing wide but his hand refusing to move. “That’s the most disturbing thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Breakdown giggled at his friend’s discomfort, his field flooding with pride. “Good going, you two! You scared ‘Pac!”

“I am not scared,” the Wrecker defended, slowly stepping away. “I am deeply disturbed.”

“Anyone else want a go at it?” Knock Out asked sweetly, looking around at the room of terrified looking warriors and grinning playfully. “Or can we get back to the lesson?”

“I’m good,” Bulkhead responded with a grimace. The others muttered their shared sentiment.

“Right, then. How about welding cuts?”

The room seemed significantly more enthusiastic about the change in lesson, all fourteen lumbering masses following Knock Out eagerly back to the prone model.

Pharma was beginning to reach his patience limit with his subordinate.

“You not only _told_ him, but you _brought_ him along?”

Knock Out shrugged like the matter was entirely out of his control. His partner, at least, was properly frightened by his tone.

Breakdown grimaced, holding his hands up to pacify Pharma’s anger. “I won’t tell anyone! Promise! Haven’t said anything about the donors!”

“You know about that?” Pharma whisper yelled, then directed his rage back to the red medic. “What possessed you to go discussing our little enterprise with this brute?”

Knock Out shrugged again as if he was actively trying his limits. “Hard to hide things during a merge, so I figured I’d make sure he was on our side.”

“There was a measure of trust involved that you are breaking—”

“No,” Knock Out tsked, “This isn’t what I would call _trust_ , per se. More like…mutually beneficial activities. We each will do whatever best serves _ourselves_ to then work towards our joint goals.” He smirked, shaking his helm lowly like he was speaking down to him. “You didn’t really think we were _friends_ , now, Pharma? Trust is me knowing Breakdown, here, won’t tattle on me, and by extension, _you_.”

Pharma just scowled at the trickster of his own making. Knock Out was bound to start imitating his own behaviors, cheating the system to serve his own purposes. He supposed it was better the addition be accounted for now before he set Knock Out loose. It served him to keep the carrier in good spirits, anyway.

“Fine,” he muttered, then motioned at the four cases. “He has to carry his weight, then.”

“Of course!” the blue bruiser replied with all the submission of a seasoned soldier.

They left during the shift change, slower this time given the Wrecker’s lack of grace. But time remained on their side, and their escape was met with nothing but the brilliant night sky.

Pharma had to fly circles around the pair, slow as the newbie was despite being a Velocitronian. But he couldn’t resurface his earlier rage when the sky felt so clear and crisp. This was one of the more personal perks of their outings. Sure, flight frames received some time off to devote to the sky, but it wasn’t nearly enough. No manner of argument could sway the command staff to extend it, try as Pharma might to prove the health benefits of flying.

There was no changing a grounder’s mind. They would never taste the sky, so full of dirt their mouths were.

Eventually, the trio came upon the shallow valley. With his conjunx nearby, Pharma allowed himself an extra few breems to circle above rather than assist Knock Out. The three of them stood in awkward silence once Pharma landed. They waited, staring down the valley for the two forms to emerge through the dark.

“So…do we just—just stand here?” Breakdown asked, jolting Pharma out of his serenity.

He frowned, though refused to turn around and acknowledge the added risk.

“Basically,” he heard Knock Out reply.

Silence blanketed them once more, until the sound of a gear clanking interrupted it.

“Sorry,” Knock Out piped up, cycling his vents.

The silence returned. Pharma took to the peaceful task of connecting constellations.

Another clank. He primed his patience.

Another.

“Primus below, Knock Out, what slag are you pulling?” Pharma exclaimed, finally spinning around to confront his subordinate.

The shiny medic grimaced, looking genuinely uncomfortable. “My pelvis was not designed for this,” he explained, huffing at the end. He rubbed at a spot on his lower abdomen.

“You want I can sit down,” Breakdown offered, “then you could sit on me.”

Pharma hated the way he softened at the suggestion, so he mustered his authority. “They shouldn’t be much longer. You can stand.” He turned back around to prevent any argument.

Sure enough, unsettling red orbs appeared a few breems later. As they drew closer, the brute began to shuffle, his nerves flooding into his field.

“Control yourself,” Pharma demanded over his shoulder. The Wrecker’s field shrunk closer to himself, but he could still sense the mech’s growing unease through his wings.

It dissipated, though, once the forms were more in sight. The fear remained, but it was overrode by a passion driven need to protect. It made Pharma twitch to sense such unapologetic devotion to someone, especially when that someone was a glitch like Knock Out.

The Decepticons hesitated in their approach, stopping further away than was typical. Pharma prepared his excuses.

“Another one?” one asked, apprehension faintly laced in his field more than his tone.

“I surely hope his presence is obviously justified,” he said, motioning to his carrying underling.

If Knock Out held any reservations or aggravations at him for outing his condition, he did well to hide them. He must know, Pharma reasoned, that there was absolutely no use in playing the ignorant. At a little over six orns, Knock Out was bloated to a carriage of nearly twice that time. Anyone with a processor still functioning would assume he was near the end of his term.

Also blatantly obvious? Just who the sire was.

The two Decepticons nodded in understanding, glancing suspiciously at the larger warrior scowling with murderous intent.

“Cute, isn’t he?” Knock Out chimed in, startling Pharma momentarily.

One of the ‘Cons laughed, his field calming a small degree. “You weren’t kidding, mech. But you didn’t bring him all the way out here to prove something, did you?”

Knock Out gave him a sarcastic huff. “Of course not. I have nothing I need to prove to _you_.”

Pharma shot the fool a warning over his shoulder, but it failed to catch anyone’s attention.

“You talk as mean as you look, big guy?”

Breakdown didn’t say a word, but Pharma could feel the mech vibrating in a growl behind him.

“Ain’t much on talking, is he?”

“Perhaps…,” Knock Out sang, in that coy tone he used to get what he wanted, “he’s just better at _doing_.”

Pharma glanced back at the Decepticons in time to see their twin grins begin to form. Good, he thought, they liked their new business partners.

“We best part ways,” Pharma announced, returning the focus to him and the four cases on the ground beside him.

One the ‘Cons nodded, his optic flickering as he did so, while the other moved to claim their offerings.

Without more than a wave and a nod, the two disappeared in the horizon.

Pharma twisted around to face the couple. “Well,” he started. “That went well.”

Breakdown ex-vented, his whole body slumping in relief. “That’s it?” he asked.

“Yup,” Knock Out said, drawing out the sound in a display of how bored he now was.

“And now they won’t report anything to the Decepticons?”

“Now,” Pharma corrected, “they’ll be far too preoccupied with system overloads to even _consider_ reporting home.” He began stalking off toward Kima, prepared to end with the last word, but Breakdown stopped him.

“Not bad,” he admitted, voice dipping lower. “The set up you got here.”

Pharma considered how best to respond, surprised by the sinister air around the usually overly cheerful mech. “You see the benefits, then?”

“I get how this works,” Breakdown explained. “I swore an oath to the Autobots to serve and protect the innocent. If this how, then I’m prepared to do it.”

The finality behind the statement was what truly secured his confidence. Knock Out was a great number of desirable attributes, but goal oriented he was not. His priorities changed as fast he could transform in a bad situation. The conjunx, however, had the simplest of motivations. That, Pharma could work with.

“Welcome, then, to our little initiative.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very long chapter! Very glad I broke it into two parts! Hope it was a good read!
> 
> Also, feel free to guess the names of the twins, though I may have made it quite obvious. 
> 
> Stay safe! Stay kind! Have a lovely day!


	4. A Bit of Sunshine By My Side - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise, and some people's opinions are made known.

Meetings were a truly terrible invention. They were long, droning, and unaccomplished wastes of time. Why their superiors couldn’t spare the time to send mass messages over comm channels but could spend an entire three joors standing and talking at a room of uninterested audios, Knock Out could not fathom.

And the whole ordeal was made even more atrocious by the strict lack of breaks. Never mind that Greenlight knew very well his condition, had even been the one to suggest the routine walks. But a quick glance over at his doctor proved what Knock Out had already suspected. The femme was making flirtatious eyes with Pharma’s assistant, Lancer, who appeared to fully encourage it. Neither was paying the least bit of attention to Pharma speaking or the glare he was sending Greenlight.

He didn’t have the energy or the lack of sense to simply get up and leave (much as he wanted to) at twelve orns into his carriage. The sparklings were capable now of tossing about and kicking at one another and his internals. Their weight on his pelvis and lower back where causing aches in the regions and numbness in his legs. Knock Out lifted himself using the arms of his highly uncomfortable chair to readjust, but the action did little more than lend him a select few glares. Which he delighted in returning.

“And lastly—” Knock Out immediately turned his attention to Pharma, rejoicing in the thought of regaining freedom “—the Autobot TIC will be stopping by our base on his way to the Delta Tower next cycle. Since it’s just for the night cycle, he won’t be needing our care or anything, but Ratchet wants me to place a few of you on-call for him.” Pharma set down the data pad he was reading off of to pick up another. “So that pertains to Greenlight, of course, Spacer, and Lancer. You three stay for a debrief, the rest of you get out of my sight. I’m done.”

If he could have leapt out of his chair, he most certainly would have. Instead, as the rest of the room’s occupants easily stood and vacated, Knock Out underwent the increasingly longer process of simply standing.

“I got you,” First Aid chimed, spinning his chair around just as he had leaned forward to build momentum. At the hand Aid offered, Knock Out huffed and took it, allowing his young friend to yank him to his peds.

As they left the conference room, Aid shook his head in humor. “How much longer you have? I don’t think you can get much heavier.”

Knock Out didn’t even try to control whatever reaction his face contorted into. “Let’s make a bet out of it,” he said, toneless.

“Sure!” Aid agreed, completely oblivious. “I give you one more decacycle.”

“Primus, no!” Knock Out exclaimed. “I can’t wait that long.”

Aid gave him a hearty laugh at his sarcasm, but Knock Out was fairly sure he was only partially kidding himself.

One of the twins landed a kick to his distended plating, and he rested a hand on the place. A soft tap earned him another kick, some shuffling, and a thud as the other rammed his helm into the chamber lining.

Knock Out wanted them out, that was out of the question. But the twins seemed perfectly content in their place within him. There, they were safe and warm and free of all concerns that plagued real life. There was comfort in holding them so close to himself.

“Are you on break?” Knock Out asked, shaking himself out of his fears.

“No, not yet,” Aid replied. Something in his tone must have alerted the youngling because he turned his head a fraction towards him, a move Knock Out had come to recognize as Aid side-eying. Aid stared him for a few klicks as they walked, at his hand absently rubbing his distended abdomen plating. “Are you?”

“Hey!” a familiar voice called out as the pair entered the main foyer. Breakdown waved from the entryway, smiling as he made his way to them.

“I’m not,” Knock Out answered Aid in a measured tone. Once his conjunx was close enough to wrap him in a secure hug, he asked him, “What brings you?”

“On my way to training. Thought I’d stop by to see you since you said you’d be out of that thing by now.”

“Aww,” Aid exclaimed cheerily. “Knock Out, where do I find one this sweet?”

“Limited edition,” he answered smugly, grabbing hold of Breakdown’s chest to drag him down into a kiss.

Once they parted, Breakdown freed a servo to clasp with Aid’s in greeting. “How are you doing, mech?”

“Can’t complain,” First Aid answered with a shrug. “Knock Out and I were just betting on his emergence.”

“Yeah?” Breakdown brightened. “Greeny said they’re clear to come, so it’s whenever they get tired of the cramped space.” He removed one servo from its place around Knock Out to tap his subspace. “Want to see them?”

“A scan?” Aid asked excitedly.

Breakdown wasted no time in retrieving the data pad, pulling up his favorite of the most recent images, and handing it to First Aid.

The youngling cooed at the small, blurry faces on the screen. “Primus has such an eye for creation!”

“Cute, huh?” Breakdown said with no attempts to hide his pride and adoration. “They have little hands!”

“Riveting,” Knock Out commented. He pulled away enough to see Breakdown’s cute face. “You just came here for a quick kiss and to show off pictures of the twins?” he teased, quirking an optic ridge.

“Nah,” he laughed, “Wanted to also let you know there’s a party later tomorrow. Something about the commander who’s visiting.”

“Well _that_ seems ill advised.”

“No, he’s big into it. He sent out invites on the general comm.”

Odd, Knock Out thought, that any high ranking Autobot official would associate themselves with such…immoralities.

Breakdown’s face morphed into sudden realization. “I don’t think they party like that, babe,” he explained. “Bulk said there’d probably be some engex and treats and music, but nothing like that.”

Knock Out patted the hip plating he was still holding. “That seems more on pare.” An odd thought occurred to him. “Have you heard anything else? About why the TIC is even coming to Kima?”

“What does it matter?” Aid asked, handing back the data pad. “He’s only passing through, Pharma said.”

“The tower isn’t _that_ far from here, maybe two joors,” he elaborated. “So, why would a high ranking military officer stop by a barracks and medical base that just houses the Wreckers and Defensor?”

Breakdown shuffled on his peds as he considered the implications. “He wants to check on something here, maybe? Or just throw a party.”

“Or maybe he just wants to look over the renovations,” Aid offered, “to make sure all the changes are up to code or something.”

“We moved a few rooms around, I hardly see that as worthy of a pitstop let alone an overnight,” Knock Out argued. Doubt was setting into his spark at the overwhelming number of unknowns.

Breakdown ran his servo down his side, stopping to rub small circles over his middle with a thumb. “Whatever is up, we can still have fun at the party. And then he’ll be gone the next cycle,” he reassured.

But even long after Breakdown bent down to kiss him goodbye, after he returned to his never ending task list, as he distracted himself with cleaning tools and attending to patients, that fear of the uncontrollable refused to leave him be.

The rec room had been converted into something more closely resembling the clubs in lower Iacon. Knock Out had been hired to perform in a few before the war, so he had no desire to be reminded of such times. The bright, colored spotlights, the makeshift stage, the speaker systems. They all hinted at life he was desperately trying to leave behind.

But this was, he had to admit, the cleanest “club” he had ever experienced. And the idea of dancing with a mech of his own choosing, with no responsibilities or expectations, was desirable beyond words.

Breakdown squeezed his servo, urging him forward softly to follow the other Wreckers inside. Knock Out cycled his vents and directed them to the center of the room where the tables had all been pushed away to make the stage at the back of the room, leaving an open dance floor.

Several mechs already looked transcended, helms lulled back, bodies flaying in a poor imitation of dance. It all amounted to a safe space. Among the overcharged, there would be only enthusiastic encouragement and praise rather than the judgement thrown by the sober. The memories recalled now an absent thought in his mind, Knock Out wanted nothing more than to move.

Breakdown was more than happy to oblige. His lover led them through the sea of dancers, grasping onto his hips. Knock Out was stiff and heavy, but he rolled with the music, nonetheless. Leaning against his conjunx’s larger frame, held by hands that wanted nothing more than to support him, swaying in time with the music blasting nearby.

It was _intoxicating_.

They swayed for a time, then ground up against one another, aching to be nearer, to experience the energy of the moment as one entity. Knock Out’s back to Breakdown’s front afforded an ideal position for his lover to lay a hand across his expanded plating, feeling as the lives they created squirmed in reaction to their creators’ thrill.

Sounds of elation joined in the music. Knock Out opened his eyes to grin pridefully at whoever thought him so pleasing, to assure them just how right they were. A small group of mechs stood among the dancers, yelling for him to continue his motions.

Knock Out thought nothing of humoring them, grinding up against Breakdown in a way he knew the blue bruiser enjoyed. The mechs jeered, calling on him.

“Move me, carrier!”

“Come over when you’re through with him!”

“I could show you a fragging good time! Better than that brute!”

Their words finally registered, ending the blissful trance. Knock Out stopped, leaning further into safe arms. Going stiff put Breakdown on alert.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, dipping down so he didn’t have to yell over the music.

“Nothing,” Knock Out dismissed. He turned so their fronts pressed together and grabbed onto Breakdown’s hips to pull them back into a rhythmic sway.

But the sounds of calls and sneers and lust penetrated the idea of returning to the moment.

This time, Breakdown was searching for whatever had his lover on edge.

“You want to think twice, mechs?” he yelled, voice rumbling with a rage seldom ever met and even fewer lived to describe.

“What, crimson can’t take a compliment?” one foolish mech countered.

“Last chance to live!” Breakdown roared.

Knock Out spared a glance behind him at the scene playing out on his behalf. Several other dancers had suddenly jerked out the way, taking the threat to be true. Even those too wasted to know the day were aware to not intervene. He caught the gaze of several other medics, scowling at the drama he was causing.

“Breakdown,” he called, trying to shift his lover’s attention away from the mechs he wanted to crush. “Babe, I’m getting tired, let’s go sit down.”

Breakdown didn’t appear to be listening at first. His mouth was drawn up in a growl, denta bared. His golden eyes glowed so bright with fury they shone a pale yellow. But the soft strokes to his sides eased his features until he looked down at Knock Out with searching optics. He wanted to put up a fight, with Knock Out, with those mechs, with the world, but he was wise enough to know it wasn’t worth it.

The crowd parted for them as the pair left the center of the dance floor to the less loud seating areas lining the walls. They didn’t bother going on a hunt for their group, just headed for the first available space.

The excuse had been laced with a measure of truth. Carrying was a draining process to begin with, and the twins were only making the cycles seem longer. As enjoyable as the dancing had been while it lasted, getting off his peds gave Knock Out a similar sense of ecstasy.

Rather than planting himself in the seat beside him, Breakdown dropped to his knees before him, running his hands down Knock Out’s legs.

“Need anything?” he asked softly, all traces of the fury buried under mounting concern.

Knock Out shook his helm in the negative, taking Breakdown’s chin by the hand to pull him into an apologetic kiss. “No, you can go find your unit.”

Breakdown made to protest, but Knock Out beat him to it. “I’m fine and positively boring just sitting here. Let me know where everyone is, and I’ll join in a klick.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.” The tone suggested there was no room for argument, but Knock Out knew better.

“I need a moment,” he explained, opting for the truth to sway his lover.

Breakdown didn’t look overly thrilled, but he slowly eased into compliance. “Alright,” he said, “I’m going to get some energon goodies, then be right back. May take me a bit to find them, though.”

Knock Out smiled in thanks, giving him a swift kiss to sweeten the circumstance as Breakdown rose to leave.

He ex-vented, slowly and with purpose. It wasn’t a lie; he truly needed the space to processes whatever emotions he was struggling through. He had allowed himself, for the briefest of moments, to feel good. Public image wasn’t on his side, but Knock Out had never felt objectified to such a degree since before enlisting. There were the occasional engine revs and coy grins, but no one had so openly requested him in vorns.

It concerned him for reasons surpassing his own image. His previous life and status lent him a certain kind of first impression that never really evolved. But his sons? They stood a chance of looking just enough like him to earn the same form of treatment. And what could he hope to do but teach them to ignore the mechs who ought to know better?

“Seat taken?” a heavily accented voice asked. Knock Out looked up from his worrying to see a stocky racer sporting a blue visor grin at him coolly.

“Why?” he asked, not in the mood to deal with more wanton life forms. “Here to make me swoon?”

The mech quickly put his hands up, waving for him to stop such thoughts. “Nah, mech, I just want to sit. I get my sweet loving from another and figured you did too.”

The words piled out fast, deep, and merged to create a pleasant sounding assortment that took a moment to decipher. He sounded truthful, but Knock Out didn’t get very far in his assessment of the mech before he unceremoniously sat next to him. He wondered briefly why the mech chose to sit there, given that much of the row of seats was vacant.

“When you due?” the mech asked, answering Knock Out’s internal question.

Knock Out rolled his optics back, sick of that becoming the first question anyone thought to ask him. “An orn, technically,” he replied, prepared for the shocked exclamations to follow.

“Really?” the mech said. “Hey! He won’t be that much older than mine!”

That was, Knock Out was sure, the last thing he expected anyone to say. He gave the visored mech a onceover, noting now the widened seams and bulky shape.

“I never would have noticed had you not mentioned it,” Knock Out admitted, marveling to himself how little an effect carrying seemed to be having on his companion.

The mech laughed, honestly and with a sad joy. “You’re the only one who thinks that, I promise you,” he said. “Enjoying the party?”

Knock Out had a lie ready on his glossa but paused. Honestly, what did it matter at this point what this mech would hear from him? He had already been caught starting drama.

“I _was_ ,” he said instead. “But people can be cruel.”

The mech nodded, and Knock Out was given the sense that he actually understood. “That’s why you got to find the good ones and hold on to them.” He cocked his helm in a move that reminded him greatly of First Aid. “Nervous bout something?”

Again, Knock Out thought to deny it, but he considered who he was speaking to: someone who would know the kinds of fears festering in him. “I—it’s all nerve-racking. The whole…outcome of this.” He indicated the twins with a sarcastic gesture.

“Yeah,” the mech agreed, “emergence is really freaking me out more, though.”

“Imagine knowing every single thing that could possibly go wrong,” Knock Out pointed out. “The downside to being a medic.”

“I think I’d almost rather that. Knowing just what can happen.”

“I’d rather have your apparent confidence with the aftermath.”

“That comes with already having a kid.” Knock Out glanced over in surprise, meeting the mech’s prideful grin. “We adopted a youngling displaced by the war. He wasn’t, like, a sparkling or nothing, so I got a bit of a gap to figure out.”

“But he’s fine?” Knock Out asked. “Your older one? How have—how do you keep him away from everything?”

“He’s traumatized,” the mech said plainly. “There’s only so much you can do past making sure they know you’re a safe place.”

Knock Out considered the advice and how unhelpful the vagueness was. “Does anyone…I don’t know the words,” he relented with a somber ex-vent.

“Does anyone dare to state their opinions, you mean?” the mech deduced. “Yeah, they do.” He smirked at Knock Out. “Would you be surprised the number of times I’m asked when I’ll ‘shove a visor on him’?”

Knock Out snorted. “Probably the same number of catcalls I receive on the daily.”

“Yeah, mech. It’s like you said, people can be cruel.” He looked off to the dancers, seeming far away. “Lead by example, is what I go by. If you want the insults to bounce right off your kid, then you let them bounce right off you. If it’s not a concern to you, won’t be for them. Least for a time, until you can go about changing minds.”

Knock Out wasn’t sure about that last part. For vorns, he worked for his side of the war, he played his part. And still, he was no more than the function he was created to serve. A position in the system seeking to devalue him.

His worst fear, now, was that the same fate would befall his sons all because of the crime of being his.

“Hope I helped some,” the mech said, reaching out a servo to clasp his. “My party’s waiting on me, though, so I got to move it while I still can!” he laughed, his visor brightening in mirth.

Knock Out allowed a corner of his mouth to upturn, still uneasy but appreciative of the company. “Enjoy it then!”

He watched the other carrier bounce away and leap into a group of dancers to be engulfed by their energy.

Their conversation replayed over and over in Knock Out’s mind as he waited for Breakdown to return. There was some truth to the advice, he supposed. If he wanted his sons to have the confidence to withstand unfair stereotypes, then it was up to him and Breakdown to teach them how.

He allowed several ideas to simmer, setting them aside as he saw Breakdown approach with a tray full of goodies.

“They had those magnesium ones you said you wanted the other day,” his conjunx announced once he was close enough to hear. Breakdown set the tray on the seat nearby and returned to his crouch in front of him. “Better?” he asked softly.

Several emotions bubbled up at the caring look in Breakdown’s eyes. The entire conversation with the other mech was tossed aside in favor of that utter devotion. Let scrapheaps think whatever they wanted of their boys because as much as they were his, they were Breakdown’s as well.

“Babe, don’t let mean people get to you,” Breakdown said, wiping away a tear Knock Out hadn’t realized he shed.

“It’s more than just those few,” Knock Out admitted, sounding even to himself like an emotional wimp. “It’s—it’s too many, and it’s overwhelming, and I can’t stop anyone for thinking the way they do, and I just—” he cycled his vents to calm himself “—I need them to be more like you.”

Breakdown held him by the arms, rubbing at the elbow joints to steady him. “I was kind of hoping they’d be more like you but not much we can do about it.”

The shot at humor landed, and through his tears, Knock Out chuckled. “A good mix of us then.”

“Tell them that,” Breakdown laughed. His smile faltered for a moment as he searched his lover’s face for any lingering sadness. “Are these just nerves or something more?”

The truth was always easier with Breakdown. “I don’t know yet.”

“That’s okay.” Breakdown squeezed his arms before removing them to stand. “Distraction or recharge?” he offered before he seemed to remember something. “Both include those, just so you know.” He pointed to the untouched tray of confections.

Knock Out grabbed one for good measure, enjoying the sweet sensations in his mouth and the bit of happiness it brought him. “Distraction,” he answered through the energon in his mouth. “Not like I can recharge right now, anyway.”

Breakdown extended a servo to him to help him stand. “Twins are active?”

Knock Out allowed his lover to pull him up effortlessly (and without comment to his weight) then vented once he settled on his peds. “They’re having their own party, it seems.”

Breakdown’s laugh overpowered the background music. “Figured. They keep pulsing at me that they’re happy. Think they like the music.”

“Maybe,” Knock Out said through a grin, loving the way his earlier sorrow faded as easily as the noise. “Now, where are we off to?”

Right next to the speakers, apparently. The other Wreckers were congregated as close as they could be to the noise without actually being on the dance floor. Knock Out was not surprised in the least by the awful choice of social grouping. He had personally conducted each one’s audio checks, and none of them were stellar. Seaspray was even almost completely deaf.

Several of his charges smirked at his arrival. A few frowned, but Knock Out chose to ignore them. Impactor, at least, seemed genuinely glad to see him. Whirl was just looking off into the crowd blankly with his back to the group.

“Shiny! Saw your kind of dancing!” Pyro greeted, yelling barely loud enough to hear. “Let me know if you want to go back out there!”

Knock Out was wise enough to know the fiery Wrecker was not referring to any kind of safety precautions. It was something in the way Pryo raked his frame or smirked so smugly. But this was not the setting to have a conversation about appropriate behavior. That didn’t mean he had to respond, though.

He turned to his lover for a hint on just what to do now, only to see his blue backside. A short step forward to look around him proved just who Knock Out suspected he was talking to. Bulkhead briefly noticed him but just as quickly refocused on Breakdown, laughing at something the blue bruiser said.

That option evidently exhausted, Knock Out swept his gaze around the other twelve in the unit. Everyone was grouped together in small patches of yelled conversation.

Everyone, except Whirl.

The odd mech had been unincluded since the day he joined. Always tapping on others’ nerves, starting fights, and speaking out of line in casual settings. But, Knock Out had noted, he usually only antagonized those who deserved it. Plus, the chaos he caused was almost always entertaining.

Mind made up, Knock Out walked over to the single-optic gunslinger sitting off on his own.

It took him longer than he cared to admit to climb around the table and chairs to his chosen companion. Whirl did nothing but watch as he maneuvered a chair next to his and fell in it with a tired huff.

“That looks exhausting.”

“Yeah, well,” Knock Out waved in the air at nothing, “you get something out of it.”

Whirl stared at him, long enough to cause discomfort, before looking back to the crowd of dancers.

They sat together for a while without speaking, the blaring music keeping the silence at bay as they stared at the sea of animated bodies. Knock Out found himself grateful for his decision to sit with Whirl. It was too loud for real thoughts to form, so he had no choice but to simply exist in the moment.

The twins twisted and turned within him, buzzing at the loud noises and vibrations from the outside world. Knock Out absently ran his servos over his middle to feel the bumps and clanks against his hands. With each kick, he pictured the ped actually colliding with his hand. When one twin’s helm pushed into the chamber lining, he cupped the slightly raised area, imaging holding that helm in his hands.

Soon, he thought. He would be able to kiss their little faces and nuzzle their frames. He would inhale their scents and listen to their soft clicks and whines.

“Ever wonder what kind of watch someone would wear?”

Knock Out recoiled at the very sudden speech. He glanced over at Whirl, wondering if there was a joke laced in somewhere. But the Wrecker continued to stare into the crowd, evidently thinking about watches, of all things.

“…No?”

“Never mind then.”

After a klick of enduring the awkward energy that settled between them, Whirl stood and left. Knock Out watched in astonishment as he frightened people out of his way with a quick show of claws, clearing himself a path to the exist.

Knock Out glanced down at the now empty seat, idly wondering if he wanted anyone else to occupy it.

“Babe!” Breakdown appeared behind him, covering his shoulders with his large hands. “Where’d Whirl go?”

“Out,” Knock Out answered with a wave to the door.

“He mention watches?”

“Yes, actually,” Knock Out said, surprised to say the least.

“He’s not in a good mood, then. I’ll talk to him later.”

Knock Out twisted, as much as he could given his circumstance, to peer up at his conjunx questioningly.

Breakdown just shook his head. “Personal thing. Took a long time for him to tell me.” He patted Knock Out’s shoulder. “Hey, Rotorstorm and Seaspray ate all the goodies, so I’m going to go get more. Bulk said he’d sit with you.”

“Oh, yay,” Knock Out said, forcing a smile. “You know, you really don’t have to—”

“Yeah, but you looked so happy,” he insisted. “Think there were more magnesium ones, so I’ll be right back!” With quick peak to his cheek, Breakdown was off to complete his self-employed task.

Bulkhead shuffled around to sit in Whirl’s chair, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Knock Out felt.

“I didn’t offer to,” Bulkhead spoke up after a few klicks.

“No change in attitude, then,” Knock Out bit back.

“No,” he agreed.

Knock Out fought over what to say, the overwhelming noise now a hinderance. He didn’t want to start a feud between his lover and Bulkhead over him. That was more drama than the situation deemed necessary. Communication, he reminded himself, solved most every problem. At least, it did on the dramas Breakdown loved to watch.

With a steady in-vent and a sweet pulse of affection from one of the twins, Knock Out opened the door to discussion.

“I know you don’t like me,” he began. “But I need you to know I want nothing more than Breakdown’s happiness, same as you. What more, then, do I need to do to prove that?”

“What _more_?” Bulkhead asked, sounding offended even over the harsh speakers. “You haven’t done anything yet.”

“I _beg_ your pardon!” Knock Out gestured angrily at himself. “These two would disagree!”

“You think sleeping with someone means you care. That’s not how it works.”

“I didn’t just ‘sleep with him’. There’s more to carrying than _that_ vulgarity!” Knock Out shifted so he was facing Bulkhead more. “I also became your medic just to see him more. I listed as his Conjunx Endura so we could be filed together. Oh, and I joined the _Autobots_ because he wanted to stay with _you_!”

Bulkhead didn’t give any indication he was impressed. The lights of the dance floor washed over him in moving colors, but he didn’t flinch. “We get here, you frag him, you move on, Breakdown waits till you frag him again. It’s not a relationship if you control everything.”

The words were yelled, yes, but it was their venom that impacted Knock Out the most. What kind of accusation was _that_? As if all he considered the person who meant the most to him—his best friend, his love, his sparklings’ sire—was no more than what he once was.

It wasn’t anger that rose and raged in his spark, but a grief ridden ache.

“What can I _possibly_ do to prove you wrong?”

Bulkhead shook his helm, eyes downcast. “End it before he finds out who you are.”

Knock Out laughed humorlessly at that. “And what? Take his sons with me? You _honestly_ think Breakdown would want that?”

“Breakdown can handle them, especially with all of us around.”

He scoffed, turning away to give the Wrecker a cold shoulder. Not only had Bulkhead not answered his question, but he had suggested the best scenario for Breakdown was to be tasked with raising twins on his own, all the while battling a broken spark. Even setting emotions aside, what chance did a warrior have at raising younglings alone? No matter what, he would only see them between deployments.

No, this was a suggestion poorly thought through and of ill taste. It was the ramblings of someone who knew nothing of their reality.

“Found some!” Breakdown’s voice rang out like the sweetest melody Knock Out had ever heard. Once he was close enough, he gestured at the two piles on the tray. “All the pink ones on this side are yours, everyone else can grab these.”

Knock Out felt like he could cry. He grabbed a goodie before any sobs could escape him.

“I’m going to see what ‘Pac is up to,” Bulkhead announced, not leaving any chance for protest.

Breakdown walked around to take his place, staring behind him to watch his friend walk away. “He alright?”

Knock Out didn’t want to answer. This was at very bottom of the list of conversations he wanted to have, so he shoved another goodie down his intake. Then another.

“I don’t think he knows how to talk to you,” Breakdown guessed, sitting properly in his seat and refocusing on Knock Out. “He knew all about you back in Iacon, but it’s not the same as meeting someone.”

He shoved in another, nodding that he agreed.

A tingling sensation erupted in his lower back, not quite painful but hardly pleasant. Knock Out in-vented slowly as the tingle faintly spread along his sides and his gestation chamber clinched. He ex-vented in much the same way as the feeling faded.

“False starts?” Breakdown asked, shifting so he could place a hand across his distended middle.

He nodded, setting down the next goodie he had planned to devour. “I think I’m done with all of this.”

Breakdown didn’t take much more convincing. He piled the remaining treats into his subspace and helped Knock Out to stand, leaving with a short goodbye to the others.

Three more false starts occurred just on the walk back to their room. It was a decent walk, Knock Out noted, trying his best to assure Breakdown. But he made no protests when his lover offered to carrying him the rest of the way.

Laying down helped tremendously, as it usually did. Once he was settled under the sheets, on his side with a cushion between his legs, the compressions faded.

Breakdown situated himself behind Knock Out like he always did with one arm wrapped around his waist. By morning, he would be face-down, sprawled across his end of the berth. But until then, Knock Out was secured in Breakdown’s warm embrace.

“You’re still tense,” Breakdown said, voice rough from a night of yelling.

“I’m thinking about the twins,” Knock Out admitted.

Breakdown’s large hand joined his smaller one over the side of the chamber both sparklings were resting on. “I think about them a lot, too.”

“I don’t think we have everything as planned out as we think we do.”

Breakdown laughed softly. “Probably not.”

“It’s just tha—”

Breakdown made a ‘shh’ to silence him, his thumb rubbing little circles on his plating. “Just focus on the little feelings they send out. Recharge and enjoy the time we have left like this.” He sat up, carefully ensuring he didn’t jostle Knock Out, until he was bent over enough to push his face against the raised plating in a kiss.

“How do you not worry?” Knock Out asked, moving his arm out of his lover’s way.

“’Cause I know us,” Breakdown answered matter-of-factly, “and I know them.” He placed another kiss to the plating protecting their creations. “Love you, too, little bits. Let your carrier recharge, alright?”

Faintly, Knock Out could sense a flow of rudimentary communication between Breakdown and their sons over the bonds they shared. The twins sent back those same feelings of love and safety that Breakdown had shown them, encompassing their carrier in the process.

Knock Out let his body grow lax. He waited until Breakdown was venting rhythmically in recharge, which didn’t take very long, before he ventured a message of his own.

“You can’t stay in there forever, as much as I want you to,” he whispered, glancing down at the rounded swell in his frame.

Bulkhead was right in some ways, in that he probably showed very little aside from physical affection in front of the other Wreckers. For as long as Bulkhead’s (and possibly some others’) perceptions failed to change, so too would their impressions of him.

“The world is not always as kind as your sire. A lot of people will assume so much of you that’s untrue.”

All of that could change, though, if others could simply experience them with their sons. Then, the love he devoted to Breakdown and the twins would be evident and irrefutable. If his own image could change, then his sons stood a better chance.

“Many ugly people will speak their minds, but we’ll do everything in our power to save you from them.”

Right now, though, the immediate threat was close by. He couldn’t bear the thought—just the _thought_ —of leaving Breakdown, let alone the twins along with him. Bulkhead didn’t know the pain he had already endured against his will.

“I just need you both to promise me you’ll take your time. Stay as long as you can.”

A sleepy kick was his only response. Knock Out decided it was a sign of agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. This is three parts now. Originally, some things were going to be discussed rather than shown, but that was so clunky I scrapped it. I'm not all that sorry. 
> 
> But because I feel a little bad, I'll get part 3 out soon.


	5. A Bit of Sunshine By My Side - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slag gets real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have kept my promise! Here you go!
> 
> (Please notice the explicit rating. If you do not like graphic depictions, scroll passed it. But it is written with a purpose and an intent to provide more to the story.)

“What are you doing?”

Knock Out opened his eyes to glare at Allodyn, cycling his vents with a huff.

“No need to have an attitude,” Allodyn said, crossing his arms for good measure. “It’s just that every time I look over, you’re not working.”

Knock Out shut his eyes, focusing on calming himself. “If you must know, I’m trying to relax my systems.”

“So, dozing off?,” Allodyn scoffed. “Just because you partied all night doesn’t mean you can slack on-shift.”

“I’m not,” Knock Out said in a measured tone. The tingling stared up again, invading his entire torso and traveling down his thighs. The twins pushed against his chamber as it clinched around them. All he could do was lean back, relax his body, and cycle his vents to cool his frame.

“Well, I wouldn’t be calling you out if you weren’t,” Allodyn challenged.

He waited until the compression faded to address Allodyn again. “Where’s Pharma?” Knock Out asked in a commanding tone he hoped would inspire a sense of urgency in his coworker.

“Why? Do you have a problem with others condemning your work ethic?”

“No, you idiot!” Knock Out vented to collect himself. “I need to speak with Greenlight, but she isn’t on the roster this cycle.” He favored Allodyn with a pointed glare. “ _Normally_ , the compressions stop after a time, but they are _not_ at the moment.”

That seemed to get the other medic’s attention, but he still hesitated. “Perhaps you’re just over reacting.”

Knock Out bit back sarcastic retorts concerning the poor form. It was practically rule number one of medicine to never assume a patient was faking it. But sure, berate _him_ for sitting down.

There had to be a better option than this dead end conversation. Knock Out glanced around the surgery ward for anyone else milling about. He was seriously considering breaking protocol to comm either Pharma or Greenlight as another compression started up until a familiar flyer appeared around a corner.

“Pharma!” Knock Out called out, ignoring Allodyn’s protests to not bother their superior.

His mentor looked up from the data pad he was reviewing, a question clear in the quirk of a brow.

“I need to speak to Greenlight,” Knock Out answered, straining as he spoke through the growing pressure in his abdomen. “Where is she?”

“Not here,” Pharma said sarcastically, but he walked closer to give his full attention. “She, Lancer, and Spacer left with the TIC to Delta. Why?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Knock Out breathed out as the tingling faded again. “The ‘false starts’ won’t stop. I need to go lie down.”

Allodyn scoffed. “You can’t just end your shift early because you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m trying to prevent emergence protocols from onlining!” Knock Out argued, directing an incredulous look at the fool.

“Are you seeing any patients right now,” Pharma interrupted, slipping into doctor-mode.

“I finished a surgery half a joor ago. I’m waiting for him to wake up to perform a final assessment.”

“Alright, then.” Pharma scrolled through something on his data pad and scanned its contents. “Go lay down in the break room, finish up your last patient, then end for today if they still haven’t stop. I’ll redirect the other two surgeries you have to someone else.”

Allodyn stepped forward, suddenly far brighter and more eager to please. “I can take them!” he offered, but Pharma waved him down.

“First Aid assisted in the diagnostics, and he needs the practice. _You_ have other responsibilities, or did you forget?”

Knock Out almost laughed at his mentor’s tone, but it was caught in his throat as a sharp pain erupted in his lower back. He didn’t realize when either medic left him be, so focused as he was on regulating his venting.

He waited for the pain to pass to try his hand at standing. The bench he had planted himself on lacked arms on the sides, so he had to ungracefully heave his unbalanced body forward using the wall. Once he was secure on his peds, he steadied his systems with a long, calming in-vent.

Only to hold it in as the alarms suddenly sounded.

Loud sirens blared over the speaker system and the lights flashed in warning. Three long wails. Five flashes. The base was under attack.

Or, far more likely, running another drill. Knock Out pushed down his dread and started on his course to the break room. Its stiff couch was very attractive at the moment.

“Knock Out!” a voice rang out from behind, loud enough to barely be hear over the sirens.

First Aid came running up to him, still wiping his servos of the cleanser they used before and after an operation.

“Please tell me you didn’t just leave some poor spark cut open on a slab,” Knock Out greeted.

“No! Primus, no, I was assisting one. We just finished up, I got to leave first.” He swiveled around to assess the other medics in their hast to flee to the main room. “Is this just a drill?”

“I don’t know,” Knock Out huffed, flailing his servos in the air as if to fling the whole situation away. “But this is the _last_ thing I want right now.”

Aid started toward the doors, tilting his helm as he communicated with his brothers. “Streetwise says this is serious. They got alerts to head to their stations.”

Knock Out chuckled humorlessly. “What good does that do if you’re here?”

“The ‘Cons don’t need to know about Defensor just yet. It’s best we don’t combine during the fight.”

The serious tone in First Aid’s voice was what compelled Knock Out to follow the youngling into the main room rather than head to the enticing couch. What if this was serious? But how would the Decepticons have even considered attacking Kima? That was what their little midnight runs were meant to prevent.

The sharp pain returned, wrapping around his middle not unlike the tingling had multiple times before. Walking eased the tension, but Knock Out held his side with one servo and extended his other to the wall for balance. Today was just not his day.

When they entered the main room, the blaring of the speakers became muffled, hardly audible over the chorus of muttered gossip and whispered conspiracies.

Pharma was standing amongst the crowd visibly counting off the room’s occupants. “Alright,” he announced, bringing the room to silence, “out of everyone here, we will divide into groups.

“Group 1: serious patients. You will join the other doctors not here with our more severe cases. Group 2: light to mild injury. Should be self-explanatory. Double up if you feel it’s necessary. Group 3: safe room.” Pharma raised a servo for emphasis. “This is _not_ a false alert. No one uses their comm channels—private or otherwise. You stay at your station unless _I_ instruct you elsewhere.”

“Your brother was right, then,” Knock Out said in a hush, leaning closer to Aid so he was heard.

The younger medic nodded. “Blades thinks he’s spotted one of the Wreckers. Want him to send a message?”

Knock Out didn’t waste time appreciating the kindness. “Tell him to relay to Breakdown ‘Going out tonight, glitch’.”

Aid looked off as he sent the message over the bond, not bothering to question the use of code.

“Knock Out.”

He turned his attention back to Pharma who was pointing at him absently. “Group 3. Pick an assistant.”

After a quick glance at his friend, who nodded sharply, Knock Out replied, “First Aid.”

Pharma made a quick notation on his data pad. “Group 3s, get to the safe room. Do not draw attention to yourselves.”

The room was dusted in a warning shade of red light. It was musty and stale, but it was the closest room in the entire medbay to the center of the base. Thus, its occupants were the furthest from foreign harm.

Spending nearly three straight joors trapped in such a dingy place was beginning to weigh on everyone. Most sat either on the benches lining the walls or on the floor, fighting off recharge. Knock Out, however, was pacing.

Laying down was not the miracle cure it usually was. For the first joor, he tried to lay as still as he could to allow his body to calm down. By the second joor, the uncomfortable pain was becoming more persistent, and he tossed and turned to find relief. When joor three hit, Knock Out felt the overwhelming need to move.

His vents wouldn’t shut off, constantly cycling to cool his heated frame. The emergence program hadn’t run yet, so Knock Out was clinging to his optimism. But that hope was waning.

“Be quiet,” someone whispered—he didn’t bother to decipher just who—in response to another low moan slipping from Knock Out’s vocalizer.

“He’s trying,” Aid defended, similarly hushed.

“Well, he needs to do something.”

“Like what?”

“Does anyone have a cloth? We could gag him.”

Knock Out halted in the middle of his pacing path to glare at his peers. “Don’t talk over me,” he hissed through gritted denta.

“Don’t be the reason we die,” the other medic—someone he didn’t even recognize—hissed right back, a threat lying on the edge in his voice.

“I think we should try to cool down your core temperature,” Aid suggested. “To soften your venting.”

Knock Out nodded, willing to admitting how loud they were becoming. His frame just refused to cool. “Any ideas?”

Aid stood up lifting his servos to feel the air. “There’s a draft somewhere. I felt it earlier.”

“Same here,” Scalpel chimed in. She, too, rose to find its source. “Like something circulating the air.”

“This thing, maybe?” Kaltor asked. He stepped away from where he had been leaning against the wall opposite the door. Behind him was a small vent, no doubt solely responsible for circulating the entire room.

“Let’s try that.” Aid approached Knock Out to escort him across the room. “Maybe this will even help prevent the program from running.”

Knock Out allowed himself to be led. He didn’t much care how he looked at this point, just that he helped his twins keep their promise.

The air feeding from the ventilation shafts was just barely cooler than the rest of the room, but even that small relief felt glorious. Knock Out leaned against the wall on his hands so the air ghosted over his back. The chill seeped in between his widened seams, flooding his taxed frame and alleviating its tensions. Slowly, his vents quieted a fraction, no longer so overworked.

He removed a hand from the wall to place it on his middle. Prodding the plating prompted no movement, though Knock Out could feel how low both sparklings were within the chamber. He pulsed assurances over the bonds, but the twins remained stubbornly in recharge, like they were locked in stasis. It was nearly verbatim what every file on emergence described as the early stage.

Fear cooled down the rest of him. Its icy grip steeled his resolve. Any hope remaining in him vanished as an alert in his HUD signaled a transformation program had onlined.

“Frag,” he cursed. There was no stopping what was about to happen now. Knock Out rose to stick his face in the cooler air, shutting his eyes.

The attack on the base was likely to end soon. But unless he could comm her now, Knock Out doubted Greenlight could return in time to assist him. Breakdown stood a better chance, but that was all dependent on where he was and whether a message could reach him.

Knock Out grimaced, partly in pain and partly in misery. This was an utter mess, but pitying himself wouldn’t help his sons. He opened his eyes, prepared to face the reality of his circumstance.

Only to see eyes peering back.

For a few klicks, he didn’t move. Once he worked through the shock, Knock Out recoiled to put as much distance between him and the set of red eyes.

“What do you think y—”

“Eyes,” he said, interrupting Allodyn’s annoyed inquiry.

“What are you talking about?” his rival asked, sounding as if he thought Knock Out was of the lowest intellect in the room.

“I saw eyes,” Knock Out insisted. He shoved away from Allodyn to escape to the far corner.

“In the vent?” Kaltor asked. “Seems unlik—”

The cover to the vent flew off, stabbing Kaltor in the neck. As the medic collapsed into a pool of his own energon, a black form shot out from the wall. The beast growled deep and threateningly, its crimson optics narrowing on a target.

It lounged, colliding with Knock Out’s chest with enough force to send him flying backwards into the ground. He landed hard on his back with the creature pressing down on his chest plates. Pain ignited across his back, triggering his gestation chamber to clinch down hard enough for something to give. He couldn’t help it. He screamed.

“Cooperate,” the beast said in a smooth voice, “and this will end better for you.”

Knock Out came to his senses. The creature was situated on his chest with her back peds on either side of his pelvis, the Decepticon insignia worn proudly on her shoulder. She was arched above him in a successful admit at intimidation. Her growl sent shivers down his spinal struts as he reached a servo to touch at the pool of liquids he could feel spilling between his abdomen seams. He obediently moved his hands where she could see them above his helm.

A swift glance proved what he already knew would be true. Pale yellow energon covered his digits. Gestation fluids.

“What do you want?” Knock Out asked between ex-vents.

“The energon storage room and the armory.”

“They’re not here,” Scalpel piped up. She recoiled as the creature snarled but kept her confidence. “The energon is a ways down the hall from the medbay. Behind a large sliding door. The armory is by the main entrance next to the control room.”

Knock Out stiffened as the creature appeared to grin at Scalpel. “You lie well for an Autobot. That was once true,” she said. Her gaze dropped down to the look of terror Knock Out was sure he was wearing. “Where are they now, carrier?”

His chamber clinched again, this time causing the twins to shift inside him. The beast kindly waited for his cry to end before snarling for him to speak.

“Renovations,” Knock Out gasped out. “You—you have the old pla—” an involuntary groan interrupted him “—old plans, yes?”

A commotion started up in the other corner of the room as the other medics gasped and pleaded him to stay silent.

But the creature ignored them. “We do,” she answered. “It was a simple switch?”

Knock Out shook his helm. “Energon is where the—a large storage room was. Behind the rec room. It locks. You need a key card now from an officer’s wrist port.” His chamber bore down again, forcing another scream from him.

“What are you _doing_?” Allodyn yelled.

“You got what you want,” First Aid argued. “Leave us alone!”

“Now the armory,” the creature said, ignoring Aid’s words.

“Okay,” Knock Out conceded. “Basement room. Need the key—the key card.”

“Very good,” she purred.

Knock Out grunted in pain. “Please,” he begged, “please don’t—just stop, I told you everything.”

“I’m sure you did,” the creature purred. She lifted a front ped from his chest to place it lightly on the distention in his middle. “Otherwise, I know where you are.”

Knock Out whimpered and squeezed his hands above his helm into fists tight enough to pierce the mesh. “I promise that’s everything. Please,” he begged, “please let me go.”

The black creature pushed off him, stalking gracefully passed the other frightened medics and the dead body leaking out on the floor. Without another word, she leapt back into the ventilation shaft.

Knock Out groaned and rolled to the side. He stared down at the mess of yellow fluids painting his frame. The chamber clinched again, and he shut his eyes as he moaned through the new wave of pain.

“The chamber ruptured?” he heard Aid ask. Vaguely, he registered a hand on his shoulder, but all his sensor input was congregating in his lower abdomen.

“Stupid,” Knock Out bit out, “what do you think?”

“I think you’re a fool at the least and a traitor at the most,” Allodyn accused.

“You would do the same,” Aid disputed.

“How did the ‘Con even find us?” someone else asked. “It couldn’t have traced us.”

“It could have if someone opened a comm link,” Allodyn pointed out, “perhaps to his mech toy.”

Knock Out didn’t bother trying to roll over to give Allodyn a proper glare. He just sent a dirty look over his shoulder, hissing, “I didn’t.”

“Right,” Allodyn said. “And you didn’t just blab away to the first ‘Con you meet.”

“I don’t think he did,” First Aid insisted. “My brothers are with Impactor, and he said Breakdown hasn’t mentioned anything.”

“How can we trust you either?” Allodyn argued. “How can we tell whether you’re lying when you have your face hidden behind a mask?”

Knock Out tilted back from the loss of support as Aid stood. “That crossed a line.”

“Well, it’s true. Unless anyone here disagrees.”

Even through the haze of pain, Knock Out noted the silence that followed.

This wasn’t helping anyone, though. Knock Out reached behind to grab Aid’s ped. “Impactor?”

“Yes, he’s with Blades and Groove.” Aid crouched back down and took Knock Out’s outstretched hand in his. “I already told them to let Impactor know what’s happening. They’re trying to comm Breakdown.”

That eased a great many concerns, but it did very little to change his current situation. “Help me up.”

Aid didn’t hesitate to grab his sides and shoulders, pulling him into a kneel. The new position allowed one of the twins to drop down, pressing against the lower lining of the chamber. As he leaned against Aid, Knock Out felt around the area. The plating was separating just above his pelvis, and he could feel the chamber mesh beneath it. The opening there felt loose, especially compared the rest of his strained frame.

“Look for blue,” he commanded Aid, who dutifully obeyed. This was already a terrible situation, he didn’t need to add chamber tearing or fuel line breaks to the list.

“All yellow,” Aid announced. “That’s good?”

Knock Out just nodded and simmered in the small victory. He felt secure how he was, but the heat radiating from Aid’s frame was becoming overpowering. After resetting his optics, Knock Out noticed the unoccupied section of bench in front of him.

“There,” he told Aid, lifting a chin at where he wanted to go. He didn’t trust his legs to carry him the short distance.

But First Aid was not the type to judge, and he helped his patient to crawl over and adjust to his specifications. Knock Out started to cry. The chamber bore down again, and Aid was running a servo up and down his back with such gentle, supportive motions.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I don’t—I didn’t know what else to do—”

“It’s alright,” Aid said softly. “Focus on the twins now.”

“You don’t have to be—to be like this but you are and I’m just—I’m sorry—”

“Don’t hyperventilate,” Aid instructed, “We’ll talk this through later.”

Knock Out choked out another undignified sob as he nodded. He settled his forearms on the bench in front of him and shifted to find any form of comfort in his position on his knees. The chamber compressed, squeezing the tiny forms inside him and shifting one so that his helm could lodge in the inner lining’s opening. He stole his remaining resolve and geared up for the next few joors of pain and stress.

Off in the distance was a faint orange glow.

“I don’t get it,” Breakdown announced. He turned away from the window to face his companions, who were both looking out windows of their own. “We got the attack sirens and everything.”

“Maybe we’re supposed to also guard Delta?” Broadside offered up. He gave Breakdown a confused look and shrugged. “Tough luck for them, then, I guess.”

“That can’t be right,” Breakdown argued. “We’re too far away!”

“We don’t even know if that even _is_ the tower,” Bulkhead interjected. “What if…what if it’s just someone burning something in the valley?”

Breakdown turned back to take a harder look through at the landscape and the fire in the distance. “I don’t think so.”

“I think we’re thinking too hard about this,” Broadside said. He stepped back, flinging his arms behind his helm. “Obviously, _they_ were under attack, not us.”

“Then why did _we_ get the alert?” Breakdown insisted.

“Are we even sure about that?” Broadside removed a servo to count off with his digits. “Was it three ‘waaaoourr’s and four lights? Or four “waaoooouuur’s and three lights?”

“Three and four, right?”

“Is that ‘we’re under attack’ or ‘something got inside’?” Bulk asked.

Broadside’s visor brightened comically. “Well slag, I don’t know.”

“I think…three to four is a security breach,” Breakdown recited, thinking back to the song he made up to memorize them. “Four to three is a siege on someone. Four to four is a siege on us.”

“So, it’s not an attack,” Bulkhead clarified.

Breakdown shrugged. “We still have to guard the entrance.”

“You three!”

The small group of Wreckers spun at the angry address and stared at the gruff form stomping towards them.

“Hey, Kup,” Breakdown greeted with a short solute. “What’s happening?”

The older mech huffed as he stopped to stand in front of the trio. “A lot. Have you gotten in touch with the others?”

“No, sir,” Bulkhead answered. “We think the comms are down.”

“You can’t contact anyone?” With three shaking helms as a response, Kup stroked his chin in thought. “That explains why none of you’ve responded. I’ve been sending orders out over the channel.”

“We haven’t gotten any,” Broadside said.

It seemed odd, at least to Breakdown, that communications were down so specifically. The more he considered why just the Wreckers would be targeted, the more he saw a correlation.

“Comms are down at all entry points,” he blurted out.

The expression Kup failed to hide was answer enough. Command must have come to a similar conclusion.

Kup made to speak again, but he was suddenly cut off.

From the shadows, a black creature pounced on Kup, crashing to the floor along with him. The creature gave a solid attempt at pinning the Wrecker leader, but Kup bucked, throwing the thing off balanced. Seizing the easy opportunity, Kup smacked the creature hard enough to send it flying off him several paces away.

Breakdown transformed one servo into his hammer, and the other he used to help Kup to his peds.

“Ravage,” Kup scoffed. “That was scrappy technique.”

The beast—Ravage, apparently—rose gracefully and growled. “Have you been demoted?”

The strange change in topics caught Breakdown off guard, but it didn’t seem to faze Kup. To his right, Broadside and Bulkhead wore similarly confused faces.

“What’s it to you?” Kup challenged.

“Cooperate,” Ravage purred.

“As if.”

The sound of Kup transforming his weapons was all the sign the trio needed to lounge into action.

Bulkhead smashed his wrecking ball down first, barely missing Ravage’s side as she flung away. Unfortunately for her, Broadside ignited his thrusters and flew in her direction, passing her. He cut off her path with a shove of flaming heels, forcing her back into the ring of Wreckers. Breakdown took his own turn, slamming his hammer down to connect with her back side.

Ravage danced out of harm’s way and stole the chance at leaping to bite Breakdown’s face. Bulkhead swung his wrecking ball into her side, connecting just in time to save Breakdown from being eaten, but the cyber-cat’s clawed ped still managed a quick swipe at his chin and a decent tear down his exposed shoulder.

The ‘Con collected her bearings, landing on her peds and sliding to keep her front facing the trio. Every bit of her body language blatantly told Breakdown of her plans to strike again, perhaps at Broadside. He clinched his fist and raised his hammer to entice her.

Ravage then leapt jarringly to the side. Her mouth latched on to the wrist of the fist Kup tried to throw at her, her denta sinking in with a disturbing crunch. Breakdown twisted around, prepared to take a backward swing at the ‘Con, but he hesitated to think around smashing Kup.

That moment’s thought cost his leader a hand.

Kup reared back from the pain then kicked Ravage square in her chest. Rather than slump to the ground after the harsh collision with the opposite wall, Ravage growled through Kup’s ripped off hand. No sooner than she had arrived, she disappeared into the wall.

They wasted a klick searching the large foyer for where Ravage might have gone. It took Kup grunting in discomfort for Breakdown to remember his leader’s injury.

“Let me handle it,” Breakdown offered, extending a servo for Kup to place his bleeding stub into. With an irritated huff, he conceded.

It was an ugly wound, and almost immediately Breakdown noted the ragged ends of fuel lines and protoform were far behind his level of medical care. All he could really do was seal of the lines to prevent massive energon loss.

As Breakdown got to work on Kup, Bulkhead and Broadside argued over who allowed the cyber-cat to get away. Their bickering was little more than white noise to him as he concentrated on his task. He spared a glance at his shorter leader.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” he said.

Kup didn’t give any indication he planned to. He looked far away, asking after a few klicks, “What good is one hand?”

Breakdown shrugged, nearly finished with all he could do.

“Need tending to that shoulder?” Kup asked, gesturing with his good hand at the shallow gashes.

“Probably not,” he answered. “I don’t even really feel it.” Breakdown sealed the last line, looking over his handiwork. “You need better treatment than this.”

“I _need_ to get word to command,” Kup corrected, “but that scrapheap ran off with my comm link.” He pointed roughly at the two bickering Wreckers with his stubbed servo. “You two stay put. Breakdown, follow me till we’re far enough away from the jammers.”

The other two made to protest, but Kup marched between them like a deaf mech. Breakdown shrugged at his friends, then jogged after their commander.

They walked for a time, Breakdown checking his in-built communicator every other klick, before he could no longer handle the silence.

“So…it was a security breach?” he asked.

“We weren’t sure, but one of the last messages from Delta Tower was about overhearing a ‘Con discussing invading the base,” Kup replied. Breakdown got the impression the whole truth was more complicated than that, but he was grateful for the information, nonetheless.

His communicator suddenly pinged, and several unread messages appeared on his HUD.

“We’re far enough?” Kup asked.

Breakdown nodded and handed his wrist over so Kup could access the port.

As his leader finagled with cords and frequency encryptions, Breakdown scrolled through the comms he had missed. The first was from Impactor. He had already called off who he was with and where they were going before the lines went silent, so Breakdown was a bit worried.

It was addressed solely to him and just read, ::From Shiny: Going out tonight, glitch.::

Breakdown released all the tension he was storing in his shoulders, slumping in relief. Knock Out was hidden away somewhere he deemed safe. He couldn’t ask for a better situation.

The next few comms were simple call outs for responses and several statements of confusion. Breakdown breezed through them, not paying any attention until he saw Knock Out’s name again.

Another message from Impactor, addressed only to him. Breakdown’s spark ran cold, and he had to remind himself that it could be more good news.

It wasn’t.

“Done,” Kup announced. He disconnected the cords and looked up at his lacky, then squinted his eyes. “You alright?”

Breakdown shook his head. “Permission to leave my station, sir? I need to find Knock Out.”

Kup gave him a quick onceover. “He hurt or something?”

“In a lot of pain, yeah,” Breakdown answered. He wasn’t sure if emergence really counted as an injury, so he figured the small bend of the truth was justified.

Kup cycled his vents, looking torn and mildly disappointed. “Go, and comm if you spot Ravage again. It’s probably in the vents.”

“Yes, sir!” Breakdown exclaimed, bouncing on his peds to break out into a sprint. “Thank you!”

He didn’t wait to see Kup wave him off. Breakdown was transforming and racing down the halls faster than lightening could strike.

“I’m telling you, he’s a Decepticon spy.”

“Why is this even still a discussion?” First Aid asked, twisted around to face the others. Knock Out grabbed his shoulder and squeezed hard, pulling Aid’s attention back to him and his plight.

“I did overhear him asking about why the TIC was stopping by,” Scalpel admitted softly.

“That’s what I mean,” Allodyn whisper shouted. “Do you think his optics are even blue?”

“Primus remind me how to have compassion for those who have none,” Aid muttered, face cast down to the floor in prayer.

Knock Out relaxed somewhat as the pain ebbed and moved the hand on Aid’s shoulder to cup his jaw. He couldn’t say anything through the polishing cloth in his mouth, so he fixed his friend with an intense look of solidarity. He hoped Aid understood that, at least right now, others’ opinions were of little value.

Another compression seized him, and Knock Out readjusted so both his hands were back to gripping the bench. He was at the stage now that aiding the chamber in its task by clinching the plating surrounding it was easier than rolling with the pain.

Rock to a set rhythm, vent in time, scream if you need, and all the while, push as hard as you can. Knock Out repeated Greenlight’s simple detailing of emergence like a mantra in his mind.

“Something’s outside,” someone announced. “First Aid, get him quiet.”

Aid didn’t even respond to the ridiculous demand. He continued to help Knock Out move back and forth on his knees, even applying some pressure the top of the chamber. Knock Out did try to stifle his yelling, but every part of him prioritized getting the sparklings out rather than not being heard.

Two thuds rapped against the door, followed by three more.

No one made a sound out of fear of alerting whoever was testing them. They waited, tense, and flinched as the sequence of knocks tapped off again. Knock Out, on the other hand, sobbed in relief.

Ignoring the chorus of ‘shh’s, Knock Out ripped the cloth out of mouth to yell, “Breakdown!”

“We are going to _die_ because of you!” someone shouted.

For a moment, nothing happened. The knocks didn’t return, and no one made to open the door. Knock Out was about to call out again when a loud bang resonated in the room. The door bowed to whatever had hit it, and several medics screamed in terror.

Another bang and the dent grew enough for the sides to separate from the door frame, but still the reinforced door held. An arm reached through one of the cracks in the side, prompting more screams.

“Someone fragging open this!” Breakdown shouted. Knock Out glanced over to see his conjunx struggling to find the lock mechanism.

Aid started to stand but hesitated to leave Knock Out’s side. The shove at his chest plates helped him make up his mind.

Knock Out was caught in another long compression, baring down as hard as he could despite his exhaustion, but he gave a quick sound of greeting once Breakdown was let in. His lover didn’t acknowledge anyone in the room, closing the distance between them in a few long strides.

Where First Aid’s frame had been a suffocating heat, Breakdown’s was comfortably cool. His larger chassis pressed flush against Knock Out’s backside, absorbing his intense heat. Breakdown’s hands found their places on his chest and middle, gently messaging his taxed form and giving the back of his neck a chaste kiss.

“Is everything ready to go, or are we still waiting?” he asked, feeling around at the parted abdomen plating.

Knock Out didn’t give him a verbal answer. Another wave of pain and pressure over took him, and he pressed into Breakdown’s front as he strained.

Once the wave subsided, Breakdown gave his neck another kiss. “Never mind.”

“You need to gag him again,” Allodyn piped in. “Otherwise he’ll alert the Decepticons to come here.”

“And if they do, I shoot them,” Breakdown answered plainly, as if the response was the most obvious one. “Besides, there’s only one.”

“How should you know anyth—”

“Shut up!” Knock Out shouted, feeling as the familiar pressure began to rise. He lifted slightly, trying to encourage the lowest twin to move further down. Something shifted as he pushed that time, and he doubled down as it became lodged in the opening.

The pain receded, and Breakdown felt around again. Knock Out twitched as his lover’s hand probed the mesh opening in his lower abdomen. “Can I? Or is that a bad idea?”

Knock Out grunted and shook his head. “Need to know if I’m just—just imagining things.”

He flinched slightly as Breakdown slipped a digit in him. It didn’t feel anything like foreplay with his valve. This was rough, near painful, and had a very clear obstruction.

“Yeah,” Breakdown said, removing the digit. “That’s a helm.”

Knock Out cleared his vents in relief. “Finally!”

“He’s not out yet,” Breakdown noted.

“I’m very much aware,” Knock Out bit back. The pressure rose again, and he refrained from more sarcasm to push the sparkling further through. He could feel his body give under the force and the smaller form shift and adjust to fit through.

Breakdown grabbed one of his hands when the compression was over, guiding it over to the space just above his pelvis. Between the parted plating and protoform mesh was the top of a small helm.

A sob broke out of him. He was so close to being done.

“Aid,” Breakdown called out, “may need you.”

The younger medic was by Knock Out’s side in a klick. “Once he’s out, I’ll give him to you. I’ll hold Knock Out while you clear the sparkling’s vents.”

“Got it.” Breakdown shuffled a little, gearing up for what was about to happen. “Then you hold on to him while we get the other one.”

Frag that, Knock Out thought. He nearly forgot there were two of them.

When the pressure began mounting again, Knock Out kept his hand on the small helm alongside Breakdown’s, determined to just yank him out once he could. He heaved, screaming out as the chamber lining burned and tore to make room. It felt like he was being ripped apart and turned inside out. For a moment, Knock Out empathized with the scavenged corpses, but then reminded himself that they had the privilege of a dead sensory system.

Breakdown seemed to have the same idea as him. Once the sparkling’s helm and a shoulder were freed, their sire reached around with both hands and began to tug gently as Knock Out pushed. Just as the compression was ending, the rest of the frame was freed.

Knock Out gasped at the sudden loss of tension and could have fallen forward had First Aid not caught him. Behind him, Breakdown sat back on his heels, blowing into the twin’s mouth to clear his airways.

Fluids squirted out of the little vents littered across his small frame. He screeched at the drastic change of scenery, wiggling and kicking in Breakdown’s hands.

“I know that was really hard, little bit,” Breakdown cooed. At the sound of someone so familiar, the crying dulled to small whimpers. “You’re so much cuter in person!”

Knock Out vented heavily, and he tried to turn even the slightest to catch a glimpse, but his torso refused to twist. He didn’t get much time to calm down, anyway, as the pressure slowly returned for another round of agony.

The return of his screaming signaled a task change between Breakdown and Aid. He seemed to make more progress this time, feeling the second twin shift and drop right into place.

Once he was allowed a short reprieve, Knock Out took the opportunity to see the squirming form in Aid’s arms. The sparkling was about as large as he had felt, a clunky thing with broad shoulders and Breakdown’s helm. When his optics opened, time halted and the pain felt far away.

Crimson little orbs peered at him. Not quite so red as his, tinged with Breakdown’s lovely gold. They were wide and curious, like his sire’s, and as spark piercing as his own. Knock Out’s gaze wondered to the audio horns adorning his thick head, and the wide shape of his face. Slowly, his plating began to gain color, turning most of his newborn grey into Knock Out’s own brilliant red.

He looked almost identical to his older brother.

Knock Out felt a soft kiss against his neck, forcing time to begin again.

“I know,” Breakdown said. “Just focus on the other one.”

He shut his optics to prevent his tears, not sure what emotion he was feeling. “I get why you said that you—” he paused to moan “—you thought you were dying.”

Breakdown pressed his face into Knock Out’s neck as he chuckled, cradling him against his larger chassis. “Not like I knew what was happening,” he whispered into his audial. “But I forgot what the pain was like after meeting him.”

Knock Out laughed humorlessly, wondering just when that would happen for him.

The second one was easier at first. The remaining twin required little further prompting to fix himself into the emergence channel, and after two long compressions, he felt securely lodged.

That was the extent of his cooperation. The chamber lining tore even more as Knock Out struggled to get the helm through. He panicked, worried that he was too exhausted to finish. So, he pushed harder. It was moving, that much Knock Out could feel, but so slowly it was excruciating. After three more difficult compressions, Breakdown reached in again to assess what was wrong.

“It’s like he’s…turned or something,” Breakdown concluded, still feeling around at the lining’s walls.

“Has he moved any?” Knock Out huffed out.

“A little,” Breakdown answer, a tad distracted. “If I push the opening, uh, open more, would that—”

“Yes, just get him out of me,” Knock Out agreed quickly. He shifted and grabbed on to the bench, ready for the impending discomfort.

When the next wave hit, Knock Out bore down as Breakdown spread apart the channel with a digit. It hurt, of course, but nothing was worse than what he had already endured. Even with the widened path, the helm still cut through him, tearing him even more. The pain was entirely worth it, though. By the end of the compression, the helm had emerged.

Feeling around, Knock Out discerned just what had caused such a fuss. On either side of his head were wide, sweeping helm fins. Knock Out bit out a curse at the terrible attribute he had bestowed upon his son.

In much the same way as with his brother, Breakdown grabbed hold of his shoulder and head to help him the rest of the way out. With a pained moan, Knock Out felt the rest of the body become free of his.

When he fell forward this time, Aid couldn’t catch him, occupied as he was with the first twin. Knock Out slumped up against the bench, listening for the sounds of his other son’s sharp cries.

Breakdown blew into the little mouth, prompting more fluid to go flying. The sparkling clicked angrily, fussing about in curt grunts and whines. He didn’t seem to care that his sire began cooing at him, batting at Breakdown’s face as he tried to nuzzle him.

“Miss your brother?” Breakdown asked, as if he would actually get a response. “It’s okay, he’s right over there.”

Knock Out allowed himself to teeter to the side and land on his aft, folding his numb legs beside him. First Aid shuffled closer on his knees, offering the red twin to him. He didn’t hesitate to bring his sparkling to his chest.

Bright red eyes stared up at him in wonder, seeming shocked to discover that his carrier was more than just the chamber that had enclosed him his entire life. Knock Out chuckled at the stunned little face, figuring he would react the same if his universe was so suddenly and traumatically altered.

Knock Out sent across their bond feelings of love and utter devotion, and his son mirrored them right back. He batted at Knock Out’s face, clicking in elation at the familiarity.

“You feel okay,” Breakdown asked, prompting Knock Out to break his and his sparkling’s staring contest.

He just hummed his content, gazing at the other person he successfully created. The sparkling in Breakdown’s arms wasn’t squirming nearly as much as his brother, and he smooshed his face like he was displeased with his surroundings. His grey was gradually turning into an attractive yellow.

Breakdown moved carefully to sit against the bench next him, not caring about the massive amounts of fluids on the floor given how covered in them he himself was. Now that he was much closer, Knock Out could better see his sparkling’s features. Breakdown caressed a digit down his black helm and across the helm fins. It must have been soothing because he finally relaxed his face and opened his optics, looking more than a little dazed.

He was golden, from the tips of his thick peds to the very color of his spark. They favored Knock Out’s eye shape, but the color of his glowing orbs was only slightly more amber than Breakdown’s. Aside from his eyes, though, his face was practically identical to his twin’s.

“Well,” First Aid chimed in, “that was quite a lot.”

It was the first time in…however long it had been that Knock Out became aware of the rest of the room.

With the door as damaged as it was and the intimate scene playing out, the other medics had decided to flee the scene, moving to sit just outside. Some had armed themselves with knives or shock prods, but no one seemed as tense as before. Kaltor’s grey body, though, still laid positioned along the far wall, the others having failed to save his poor life.

That was when he noticed the color of the lights. Rather than the deep red, the room was bathed in typical white light, like nothing special was occurring whatsoever.

“We got an alert that the base is clear,” Aid explained, standing to stretch. “About a joor ago. I called Pharma to let him know, and he said he’d get a message over to Greenlight.”

“Hope she’s okay,” Breakdown said, hushed and still petting their creation’s helm. “The tower was on fire earlier.”

Knock Out wasn’t sure he could properly process that right then. He stared in the familiar red eyes of the son he held and clung to the relief that he not only existed but was alive enough to thrash about in his arms, gibbering about something or other.

After a moment more of interacting with the elder twin, they switched creations with Aid’s assistance. His other son had a different weight in his arms, like he was heavier than his brother, mostly just due to how much calmer he was. Knock Out tried to stare into him in the same way, but his creation just whimpered and pushed his face into his carrier’s chest. Knock Out focused on the feeling he radiated over their bond and discovered an experience they both seemed to share.

As he wiped down the yellow plating with the polishing cloth he had thrown on the bench, his sparkling began to feel more content, happy even. Soon enough, his son’s bright yellow shown through, free of all the fluids that had covered him.

Neither creator was really sure how long they sat there, playing and cooing with the tiny people they had made, before Pharma charged in.

He looked abnormally frazzled, like a flyer who hadn’t tasted the sky in orns. Pharma didn’t even bother with pleasantries, sprinting into the room past Aid and kneeling in front of Knock Out.

“Did you tear?” he asked, completely in doctor-mode.

“Yes,” Knock Out replied, mimicking the serious, curt tone. “I think the inner lining of the channel was cut, but there’s no lingering pain. Just soreness.”

Pharma removed a scanner from his subspace, running it over Knock Out’s core, and spared a quick glance at the sparkling he held.

He did a double take.

“Yeah,” he said, appearing to notice the wide helm fins adorning the yellow sparkling. He looked over to the other twin, and his optics widened. “Slag, Knock Out,” he exclaimed. “How did those two even fit in you?”

Breakdown had been quiet for a moment, processing what he had been told. It was long enough that Knock Out began to fear his conjunx thought less of him now.

But Breakdown eventually turned his head back to him and the twins laying between them. He lifted a hand to Sideswipe, letting the sparkling grab hold of his digit and yank it.

“You did the right thing,” he said with such finality that Knock Out’s worries faded away.

“You would be honest with me if you thought otherwise?”

“Of course.” Breakdown shifted carefully to lay on his side instead of his back, facing his new family completely, never letting Sideswipe’s hold on him break. “I think Ravage would have killed you otherwise.”

The interaction had replayed over and over again in his mind since the blissful bubble of post-emergence had finally popped. As he laid in the recovery bay, more and more soldiers had joined them, each with varying degrees of burns and amputations. It hadn’t felt right that he should be celebrating during a tragedy he had only aided in.

“She very well could have killed you,” Knock Out pointed out. That small detail haunted him. With any other injured warrior, he could excuse away his actions. But he had told Ravage specific targets.

“How could you have known I would be involved?” Breakdown reached out with his free servo to caress Knock Out’s cheek. “Kup didn’t plan to be near me, and he didn’t even realize what Ravage was after.”

The affirmation eased his mind, but Knock Out still clung to his lingering guilt. He stopped playing with Sunstreaker’s helm fin to hold his son closer. Breakdown removed his hand to wrap it around Sunstreaker’s much smaller one.

“I don’t care about anyone else,” Breakdown explained. “I just care that you three are safe. I care that you kept them safe.” He gave his conjunx a pointed look. “If you had chosen the cause over _them_ , then I’d be furious.”

Now, that Knock Out was more assured by.

“Besides,” Breakdown continued, “it’s the Delta mechs’ faults for not defending themselves enough. If they had gotten rid of the ‘Cons instead of destroying the info they were after, Ravage wouldn’t have needed to be anywhere near you.”

Knock Out assessed that line of reasoning. It made sense to him, as well. If the source of one’s information was completely eradicated, save for certain individuals, the next step was to target those in the know.

The guilt still refused to fully leave him, though. Perhaps it was the state of Kup’s hand or the many who had died to protect what he had so freely given away. But really, what did it matter in the grand scheme of things? Why die in the name of a concept as abstract as “a cause” when there were better things to live for?

Sunstreaker made a short clicking noise, flooding his side of the bond with annoyance. Knock Out realized he was squeezing him tighter than was desired, so he loosened the hug, prompting his sparkling to stretch lazily.

He watched with interest as Sunstreaker began shuttering his optics sleepily only to be rudely interrupted by a ped colliding with his face. Sideswipe had lifted his clunky legs as high as he could, but their weight overrode his newborn strength, and they fell atop him and his disgruntled brother. When his brother began to cry, Sideswipe only giggled.

Breakdown laughed along with him and moved to gather the flailing limbs. “We don’t hurt people, Sides,” he instructed, but there was only mirth behind the words.

Knock Out gathered the crying sparkling, bringing him to his chest. He turned from his side to his back stiffly as he tried not to anger the welds adorning his middle. Sunstreaker stopped his sobbing once his spark was position just above his carrier’s. Within klicks, he was soundly in recharge.

“Life’s exhausting, huh?” Breakdown teased, running a hand along the sleeping form.

Sideswipe did not appear to agree. He let out a series of loud clicks and screeches that were sure to disturb the Wreckers in the next room. His wild eyes refused to rest, and he kicked against Breakdown’s open palm.

Knock Out turned his helm so both he and his son could stare at one another, their sight level where they lay. Sideswipe rolled over to fully face him, kicking his limbs about as they continued their little contest.

“I’m going to remove my lenses,” Knock Out blurted out.

Breakdown paused playing with Sideswipe’s relentlessly wriggling limbs to give him a confused look. “Thought you said you needed them?”

“I did,” he agreed, reaching a hand out for his awake creation to grab onto. “And he would too. Eventually.”

The statement seemed to bother Breakdown, who rolled his son over to look into those wild orbs. “Would he really? I mean, everyone would know him. They’d know he isn’t a ‘Con.”

“What do you think people will assume when they look at us then look at him?”

Breakdown frowned at the imagined scenario, at even the thought of someone claiming Sideswipe wasn’t his.

“I also don’t want him to feel…to feel as though he were somehow predisposed to be a certain kind of person,” Knock Out elaborated, struggling to find the words. “And if he grows up with his carrier always hiding behind a screen, then he will feel he must do the same.”

“And you don’t think anyone will give you scra—problems…if you do go back to red?”

They would. Anyone worth something before the war would. Those who wished they could rise as high as he had would. A random patient whose only experience looking into red eyes was watching an enemy die most definitely would.

But his sons would not. They would only see their carrier’s devotion. His lover would only ever see something beautiful in their crimson light. His friends, few as they were, would care less about his eyes and more about the person they had come to know.

Knock Out gazed at Sideswipe and the cheerful, mischievous glint that shone through heavy optic lids. He thought back to that party and the mech who told him to lead by example.

“He should never feel ostracized by what makes him, _him_ …And neither will I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats to everyone who guessed correctly about the twins! Also, shout out to those who were worried the 'miscarriage' tag was meant for them. I still refuse to spoil, though.
> 
> Gear up for more insanity! The Terror Twins have arrived!


	6. Innocent Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences of past actions are faced as the twins grow older.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a little longer than I wanted, but here it is!
> 
> (If you recognize parts if this, then you read my fic "Blue Skies and Sunshine". I have an excerpt from that one-shot in here.)

“So…your first decacycle back was well enough?”

Knock Out hummed dismissively, focusing on the incision he was making.

“How surprising,” Pharma said, sarcasm laced into his deadpan. “Is anyone in particular targeting you?”

“It’s an assortment,” Knock Out explained, rising from his bent over position to stand straighter, the removed baffle in his hand waving around as he gestured. “Dirty looks, walking around to avoid me, the works.” He cycled his vents, just the thought of his new normal exhausting him.

“Well…not like we don’t know _why_.”

Knock Out shot a sharp look at his mentor, his blazing red eyes brightening. “It isn’t just _that_. People think I had something to do with the attack and Ravage.”

“People are stupid.” Pharma leaned over the body, inspecting it for any other uninjured parts. “You haven’t spoken a word?”

“No,” Knock Out assured, making sure his tone was serious. “But the investigation is completely settled now, evidently?”

“Kaltor has been found guilty of ‘endangering the innocent’. He’d be sentenced to brig time if he wasn’t in the Allspark. His comm conversation will be available to the public in a few cycles, date and time included.”

Knock Out let the little relief that gave him soothe some of his worries. “It won’t matter, but I do enjoy knowing those who do wrong will pay for it in the end.”

Pharma smirked as he pulled at some exposed fuel lines in a leg. “I’m sure your situation will improve once you dawn your new title.”

The reminder of benefits to come was quite welcomed. His peers might think less of him, but Knock Out’s resume was stellar, and command was sure to grant him the promotion without debate. That Pharma was performing some orchestration probably had something to do with that, but victories were victories no matter how one obtained them.

“It will certainly be nice to have a personal office.”

Pharma scoffed. “So big-and-blue can play sitter to the two terrors without disturbing the rest of us.”

“It’s not ‘sitting’ if he’s their sire,” Knock Out corrected. He suddenly realized what he was still waving about and politely set Kaltor’s baffle among the other stolen organs “And, really, what choice do I have? They can’t be very far from me right now.”

Pharma easily yanked out the crumbling fuel lines he was handling, energon loosely dripping out of them. “These are damaged.”

“I can see that.” Knock Out made a show of flicking a few drops of the splattered energon off his shoulder, ignoring Pharma’s muttered complaints about ‘too dead corpses’. “I was mainly referring to Breakdown’s being available for deployment next decacycle.”

The sound Pharma made was one of utter distain. “So you’ll be lugging them around on shift now?”

“Not if I can get them to recharge in my office while I work,” Knock Out sang.

“How do you expect to make the next delivery with the both of them?”

Knock Out stared at his superior as though he had just admitted to hating flight. “We were attacked by Decepticons not an orn ago! You know, the very thing those deliveries were intended to _prevent_.”

“You’ve gone often enough, yes?”

“Five times in addition to the two with you.”

“Well then,” Pharma said nonchalantly, “only show them half of their usual and demand the other half be in exchange for an explanation. That usually works.”

Knock Out thought better of probing that particular story and instead nodded his compliance.

“The rest of this is scrap,” Pharma concluded, hands set on his hips. “Let’s collect the innermost energon then be done.”

Such a collection was a tricky process, despite how routine it was by now. It required synchronized cooperation and intense focus, steady hands and a quiet mind. Which was why Knock Out hesitated as a sense of growing unease was infiltrating his spark.

“Hold that thought,” Knock Out instructed. He spun around to the wash station, set to scrub off all the grim and particles from Kaltor’s innards. “The twins are upset.”

“Can we not finish this first?”

Knock Out smirked over his shoulder. “If we could make it stop that easily, we’d recharge through the night.”

“Fine,” Pharma said, walking over to clean himself as well. “I’ll keep my optics on you, though. Innermost extractions are a two mech job, and I don’t care to have you wasting my time.”

“Whatever.” Knock Out waved dismissingly as he twirled on his heels, making his way to the doors. He wiped his hands down his chassis to dry his frame, lingering over the gaps still between his seams. They weren’t nearly as atrocious as they had been during his carriage, but the little reminders of what his body was capable of caused a bit of turmoil in him. It was an incredible thing, what he had done, but Knock Out still wasn’t sure he enjoyed what he saw in the mirror.

As was his usual, he hoped such thoughts would banish once he caught sight of the twins. And, of course, they didn’t. His sons were a wonderful distraction, yes, but the insecurities stayed with him in the back of his mind.

Breakdown sat on a bench across from the door, Sideswipe wiggling in one arm as Sunstreaker whimpered in his lap. His chest plates were parted and Sides in his favored position, but the sparkling refused to take the offered fuel line.

His partner’s stressed expression morphed into relief as he caught sight of Knock Out. Once he noticed the other mech entering behind his conjunx, he nodded in greeting. “Hey Pharma.” All he received was a curt snort in reply, so he refocused on Knock Out. “I tried, but Sides won’t keep still and Sunny’s getting mad at me.”

Knock Out reassured him with a chaste kiss to the top of his helm. Sideswipe calmed at his carrier’s closer proximity, cooing as a hand reached down to rub his helm.

A change in position took place without further prompting. The new creators each knew by now their sons’ quirks and preferences, so there was little need for verbal communication. Knock Out lifted the annoyed Sunstreaker from his place along his sire’s legs, allowing Breakdown to stand. As Knock Out settled on the bench, Breakdown began to pace, much to Sideswipe’s delight.

All the squealing and whimpering from before transformed into content coos and happy squeaks.

Knock Out let himself relax, his own chest plates spread open so Sunstreaker could get his fill of processed energon. The moment reminded him greatly of a time not so long ago when his son was even closer to him. Now, though, they could see one another. It was such an insignificant thing for Sunstreaker to stare up at him while he sucked at the fuel line, but Knock Out couldn’t help the elation it brought him.

They kept their gazes locked, golden orbs transfixed by the crimson light of their creator. The whole world melted away, leaving behind the pair in their tranquil state.

Breakdown, meanwhile, was having a completely different experience. Sideswipe could not keep still. Not when he was recharging, not when he was set down, and certainly not while he was being fed. They learned very quickly that they had to walk laps while Sideswipe ate, holding him lose enough so he could kick the air (or, preferably, someone) but tight enough he didn’t squirm himself into a collision with the floor.

It took so much longer, but Breakdown couldn’t help but giggle and narrate his son’s antics. The two would make noises at one another as Breakdown paced back and forth, off in their own little world. Knock Out loved to watch them, even as the sadness threatened to set in at the familiarity of the sight.

Pharma huffed, looking back and forth between the new creators. “This is really your life now?”

Knock Out hummed, not breaking his staring contest with Sunstreaker. “It’s not so bad, Pharma.”

“Yeah,” Breakdown agreed. “It’s actually really nice. Huh, Sides?” The sparkling squeaked at the sound of his nickname, his kicking intensifying. “We love sire time, don’t we?” Breakdown cooed, eliciting more excited wiggling. “Yeah we do!”

“Primus spare me,” Pharma muttered, crossing his arms as Breakdown walked past him.

The sounds of another person so close by had Sideswipe searching about the room. On the next pass, he caught sight of Pharma, his red optics blowing wide at the strange looking frame, enticed as usual by Pharma’s short wings.

If Sides was relaying his findings to his brother, Sunstreaker didn’t appear to care. His optics lids grew heavy as he lazily grasped at the fuel line hanging loosely in his mouth. Knock Out helped him to hold it and tried guiding it back in place, but the sparkling was too far gone.

“What’s wrong with that one?” Pharma asked, watching Knock Out’s repeated efforts to continue fueling Sunny.

He closed up his chest and laid his sleepy son across him so that his small helm rested in the crook of his neck, inhaling his son’s pleasant scent. “He’s fine, just done.”

“They get overcharged,” Breakdown explained with a laugh. He shifted Sideswipe so Pharma could better see his dazed expression. “See?”

Pharma sneered at the sweet, goofy little face peering up at him in wonder. “All I see are two reasons to never interface. Hurry it up, Knock Out, we have work to do.”

First Aid grinned behind his mask to mirror the goofy smile shot at him. He was well aware the sparkling couldn’t see his face, but Sideswipe still seemed to understand the gentle tilt of his helm and scrunched shoulders meant the mech who held him was just as happy as he was.

Sharing in such innocent joy was one of the many reason Aid didn’t mind helping Knock Out take care of the twins. Well, take care of Sideswipe at least. He paced back and forth, distracting the chunky mechling with tight twirls and rocking, eliciting ecstatic giggles and clicks.

After another twirl, Aid paused to look over at his friend. Knock Out was still seated behind his desk, Sunstreaker peacefully fueling in his arms. The sparkling was beginning to fade, though, his optic lids gradually falling and his mouth hanging open. It was cute, of course, but it also meant his time with Sides was coming to an end.

The first cycle after Breakdown had left with the other Wreckers, Aid had tried to hold the yellow twin so Knock Out could take care of his brother. Wrong move. The typically quiet, well-behaved sparkling wailed like he thought he was dying. Aid had been so afraid that he had somehow hurt the poor thing, but Sunny quieted immediately once he was back in Knock Out’s arms. It was the first and _last_ time Aid attempted to hold him.

Now, after nearly a decacycle, they had a sort of routine going.

“You done, love?” Knock Out asked, his voice taking on the hushed and gentle tone Aid still wasn’t used to. Sunny clicked up at his carrier, his little vents cycling rhythmically as sleep took him. Aid watched as his friend nuzzled Sunny’s face and stood to place him in the small berth next to his desk.

Sideswipe was apparently greatly displeased that his attention had left him. He slammed his fists at Aid’s chest and kicked about, nearly squirming out of Aid’s hold.

“What?” Aid asked him, laughing at the mechling’s cute grin. “What do you want?”

“Me, I presume?” The sound of his carrier’s sweet voice had Sides whipping around to find him. Aid quickly wrapped a hand around the mechling, keeping him from falling. “Don’t go giving Aid a hard time, now,” Knock Out chastised, reaching out to take his son.

Once the sparkling was safe in his creator’s embrace, Aid ex-vented. “He’s fine, I promise. I’m just glad he likes me.”

Knock Out hummed as he began his walking, Sides continuing to wiggle and kick at the air while he fueled, the two never breaking eye contact. “Sunstreaker _likes_ you, he just doesn’t want you touching him.”

Aid walked over to the berth, leaning over to gaze at the recharging twin. “Does he only like me because Sides does?”

“Not really,” Knock Out answered, sounding distracted as he tried to contain his excitable son. “He enjoys the sound of your voice, actually. I think he finds you soothing.”

“But only from a distance,” Aid clarified, chuckling. He risked a digit, moving to run it down the mechling’s chassis. At first, Sunny didn’t appear to notice, but when he shifted, scrunching up his face in distain, Aid opted to back off.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Aid turned around to face his friend, frowning in confusion. “I don’t mind. What else is there to do on break anyway?”

Knock Out didn’t cease his pacing but did quickly shoot him an empathic look. “Plenty more glamorous activities than this.” He grimaced as Sides bit down on the fuel line and started a one-sided argument with the giggling sparkling.

Aid didn’t bother to remind him of how few his options really were. With his brothers all occupying some job or other across the base, none of them were an option until the next shift change. And Knock Out had to know they were in such similar circumstances as far as the other medbay occupants.

He stared back down at the slumbering sparkling, a sad longing he had come to accept washing over him. There were so few in Kima with the same views as him, and out of those options, two of those were his own brothers. The others he simply wasn’t interested in.

The only person outside his religion, his family, and the command staff to not take issue with him was Knock Out, and by extension Breakdown. He knew well before Allodyn accused him of being untrustworthy that people had their suspicions of him. Knock Out was the only person to truly make him feel confident in his own frame. To not feel a tearing guilt at wearing face coverings. The red mech led his life with such confidence and security that he inspired others to do the same, and Aid was grateful Primus gifted him such a friend.

“I would rather chat with Sunny than most of the other surgeons,” Aid joked, a great deal of truth laced in that he was sure Knock Out would understand.

Being away for any length of time when it had just been him and Knock Out had been hard. But now, especially with the twins sending him their emotions through his bond with them, every cycle felt like an eternity.

They _missed_ him, in ways words couldn’t begin to describe, and it broke his spark.

None of that was more evident than when he returned, his family greeting him and his unit in the shuttle bay. Sideswipe had squealed so loud that his elation could be heard several shuttles over. Sunstreaker even cracked a smile, whimpering to be held by his sire.

After nearly four decacycles of being gone, the twins felt so much heavier in his arms. They had grown in his absence to almost double their newborn size, and the two could move about far better than Breakdown remembered.

The import thing, at least for him, was that his sons still knew him. That he remained a vital part of their lives.

Which was why he felt no guilt for taking an entire cycle off to spend time with them.

They started with a lazy morning. Knock Out kissed them as he left for his shifts, and Breakdown eventually heard the other Wreckers shuffling about in the common room on their way to training. All the while, he and the twins laid in the berth, sprawled out amongst the covers, the definition of content.

Hunger was the only reason they actually got up. Breakdown idlily played with Sides as Sunny fueled, then let the yellow twin stretch across the berth as he paced about the room with Sides. They had to make a stop by the rec room for Breakdown’s ration and piddled there for a long time, watching mechs mill in and out, some even coming over to coo at the twins. Sides thrived in the attention. Sunny, Breakdown was amused to note, still didn’t care for other people.

Breakdown grabbed another ration as they left, so he wouldn’t have to return later. Their outing and subsequent fueling tired the twins out, so the three took a long nap. Both sparklings curled atop Breakdown, snuggled into his larger frame as they dozed.

Their energy returned once they woke up. Breakdown set up a space in the common room for them to play on, laying out a squishy material Greenlight had given them so the sparklings could roll around on the floor safely. There weren’t may toys to choose from, but that didn’t bother the twins. They were far happier playing with their sire than inanimate objects, giggling insanely as Breakdown blew into their frames, tickling their sensors.

That was the scene the other Wreckers walked in on. Breakdown didn’t think twice about what he must have looked like, large and intimidating as he was, even bent over two happy sparklings. He spared a quick wave at his friends to greet them, not noticing something felt off until the awkward silence made itself known.

Breakdown sat up to glance around at the twelve mechs forming a semicircle around him, closing him in and blocking the doors to the exist and his room. Everyone wore intense expressions he couldn’t begin to explain away.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to hide his anxiety. His unit knew better than to frighten him, so he figured whatever was going on had to warrant this.

“We need to talk,” Bulkhead said. His tone left no room for argument.

For a terrifying moment, Breakdown feared the worst. Knock Out had to be fine, he told himself, since the twins didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Their unit was one member down, but everyone else was standing before him, perfectly fine. That only left Kup.

“Is someone hurt?”

“No,” Bulk assured, motioning with his hands for him to stop his wondering mind. “We need to talk about something else.”

Breakdown drew a blank. Even as his anxiety took over, it couldn’t conjure any scenarios that didn’t involve death or harm to someone he loved.

“Is Knock Out going to be a while?” Bulk asked, a strange emotion in his words.

“He’s working late, yeah,” Breakdown replied truthfully. His team didn’t need to know his conjunx was driving out to meet with Decepticons, though.

“With Pharma?” Seaspray asked.

“Yeah…” Breakdown looked at his team, confused, as they all looked amongst one another, like they knew something he didn’t.

“We think they’re fragging, Break,” Pyro blurted out.

Breakdown’s processor stalled, and he would have laughed away the ridiculous notion had the rest of the room not taken the accusation so seriously.

“What?” he asked instead, smirking slightly.

“Shiny and Pharma have been spending a lot of time together,” Rotorstorm explained. “Lots of late nights, especially after he sparked.”

“They’re pretty comfy with each other,” Broadside pointed out.

“Yeah,” Topspin agreed, “they’re always smiling and flirting. It’s weird.”

Breakdown searched his companions for any sign this was some kind of sick prank, only to find nothing but honest concern across all twelve faces. “You all actually think Knock Out has something going on with _Pharma_? His _boss_?” Breakdown chuckled, prompting Sideswipe to giggle along with him. “Yeah, no,” he dismissed.

“We’re serious,” Bulkhead insisted, becoming angered at the prospect of being taken lightly.

“Yeah, I got that,” Breakdown said, “but I’ve hung around them when Knock Out’s stayed late. Nothing’s going on.”

“That you know of,” Bulkhead reasoned. “What do you think happens when your gone?”

Breakdown wasn’t about to expose his lover’s after hours activities. _He_ had even been hesitant about the shady business before actually going out with Knock Out to the valley and sitting in on the dissections. Not to mention one of the reasons he was even allowed in was because he promised to keep his mouth shut.

The problem was that he was a terrible liar. Breakdown fought to come up with a good explanation, only to instead mutter, “Doctor stuff?”

“It’s just convenient,” Bulkhead continued, “that Knock Out got sparked while we were away.”

Breakdown worked his mouth, failing to find the words. “No, he just found out while we were gone.”

“That’s what he said,” Seaspray reasoned. “He and _Pharma_ said that.”

The anger that rose in him was unlike anything Breakdown had felt before. Knock Out had been threatened, hit on, and insulted more times than he could count. But for _anyone_ to even _suggest_ that his sons didn’t belong to him? That was a line no one was allowed to cross.

Breakdown stood, slowly, deliberately, the scowl he wore growing into a growl. “Watch what you say next.”

“The red one kind of looks like him. Has that twisted grin of his,” Seaspray taunted.

Before Breakdown could do something he wouldn’t regret, Bulkhead placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “We’re here for you, Breakdown. That’s why we want to talk to you.”

Breakdown looked at his closest friend in a strange new light. “I know more than you think I do. And you really think Knock Out would cheat on me? After everything you know we’ve been through?”

Bulkhead squeezed his shoulder tighter. “I don’t think someone like him gets it. It’s a game to them.”

“ _Them_?” Breakdown shoved the hand off him, barring his denta. “Go on, Bulk, tell me what you mean by that.”

“I’m not here to hurt you—”

“Fragged up job you’re doing!” Breakdown’s shout caused Sideswipe to chirp up at him in question, his brother whimpering at the loud noise and sharp tones. Their reactions had Breakdown readjusting his volume level. In a calmer tone, that he hoped came across as eerie, Breakdown snarled, “Say it.”

He and Bulkhead stared one another down, the tension between them thickening.

“You know what I mean,” Bulkhead insisted in an equally ominous tone.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Bulkhead didn’t break his gaze as he spoke. “He’s a whore, Breakdown.”

The punch thrown had enough force behind it to send Bulkhead stumbling backward into the wall. The green Wrecker had the nerve to look shocked, and Breakdown nearly smacked him again to wipe the expression clear off his face. Impactor grabbed him before he could.

“You want to run with that logic, Bulk?” Breakdown asked, unchecked fury erupting in his words and expression. “Let’s run with it!” He shoved Impactor off him and pointed at himself. “Most ‘Cons were miners. So what does that make me?”

“That’s not the same,” Seaspray interrupted, earning himself a sliencing look from the enraged sire.

From their play area on the ground, Sideswipe was giggling like a madman, distracting Breakdown from making a good comeback. He glanced over at his sons, one sporting a mischievous little grin, the other a look of stunned confusion.

His anger didn’t dissipate. How could anyone look at them and not see two perfect blends of him and Knock Out? How could anyone look at his lover, someone strong willed enough to rise above the terrible life he’d been dealt, and think so lowly of him?

Breakdown knew the answer. He had lived long enough with Knock Out to notice the way complete strangers stared at his slender frame and flashy colors. People made up their minds long before Knock Out could prove their functionalist afts wrong.

This wasn’t some new revelation, but Breakdown came to understand his partner on deeper level.

There wasn’t anything more to be said. Breakdown walked over to his sons, picking up them and their few things.

“We’ll be back later,” he said vaguely, refusing to look at anyone.

No one tried to stop him as he fled the barracks.

“That went too far.”

Eleven stunned mechs turned to look at Whirl, who had moved to lean against a far wall, away from the rest of the semicircle.

“He needed to hear it,” Rotorstorm defended, sounding oddly confident.

“No,” Whirl challenged, pushing himself off the wall to walk towards the others. “You just created doubt in the one constant in his life.”

Impactor shook his head. “With the way he reacted? No. He just proved he doesn’t question Knock Out in the slightest, and I’m glad for it.”

“Are you defending Shiny?” Rotor asked, pointing an accusatory digit in Whirl’s direction.

Whirl wasn’t fazed. He glared at his comrade, and gestured with his clawed hands to his mangled body. To his lone optic for a face and the poor imitations of servos and peds, designed now only to kill.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “This is what I got for trying to rise out of my function. This is what the Funtionalists thought of my decision to make _watches_.” He let his angered gaze linger on each and every mech in the room. “Maybe I know just how Knock Out feels. To want more, but for people to never see past what society designed you to be.”

He stalked to the door, the other Wreckers parting in his wake. “You’re all _hypocrites_ ,” he sneered, not sparing another glance back as he, too, left.

With Breakdown finally back, Knock Out had seized the opportunity to leave the base. It was a necessary evil, he assured himself as the pang of longing in his spark nearly had him turning around. The Decepticons had invaded the base once, and they were likely to do so again if he didn’t get the wayward spies back under their control.

He had waited, alone with his stressed thoughts, for the two addicts to approach. He had waited, and waited, and waited. Eventually, Knock Out had reached the limit of his patience.

There was a cave nearby, and it had been no difficult task to find it. A perfect hideout high above the valley floor within the slope of the metal landscape. A jagged incline, easily accessible for virtually anyone with working limbs.

Knock Out had stood in the entrance of the cave for longer than was probably necessary. The frozen scene was easy to read, but that didn’t stop him from searching over and over for more answers.

Flickering-eye and Helm-dent stared back him, their optics dark and frames greyed. Three or so other bodies laid crumpling in the back of the cave. Several empty cases were thrown about, one still packed with filled containers of innermost energon.

It _looked_ like the two overdosed. And the setup would have fooled anyone who wasn’t a trained physician. Knock Out easily spotted the reopened wounds and the dried line-energon staining the ground beneath the two bodies, both completely drained.

So. Their little enterprise was over. The ‘Cons had realized their Kima spies were compromised and had let the remaining unit die a slow and painful death. No wonder they needed to access intel in Delta before raiding Kima’s base.

Knock Out huffed, wondering just how he was going to explain to Pharma they had lost their advantage.

“I’m bored.”

“Hmm.”

“Like really bored.”

“Okay.”

“I want to do something.”

“Like _what_?”

“Anything!”

“Then perish.”

Sunstreaker could feel his brother’s death stare and relished in it. Try as he might, though, he refused to look up from his pad no matter what Sideswipe threw at him.

“You’re not that funny.”

“You’re not that creative.”

“Play with me! Please!”

“I’m busy.”

“Please!”

“No.”

The dramatic sounds of his brother’s last slag expelling from his body were a temping sight, but Sunstreaker held his helm. It wasn’t enough to dissuade him from his current task. Neither was the incoming kick to his side despite it sending him completely off his chair.

Spite was a strong thing.

“Boys!”

Fortunate, Sunstreaker thought, that he was the one on the floor.

Knock Out entered their little corner of the medbay with all the subtlety of a combiner, his presence made immediately known if not by the bright red paint-job, then by the flourish with which he moved. It was a sight to see, for sure, but not one Sunstreaker cared enough to observe. After all, the impending lecture wasn’t meant for him.

“Sunny is ignoring me!”

“Sunstreaker,” he muttered the correction.

“So, what, he decided collapsing to the floor was the best way to avoid you?” Sunstreaker nearly broke just to see that sarcastic smirk his carrier loved to wear. It felt oh so rewarding when it was directed at anyone else apart from him, but he held. His work was nearly complete…

“He likes it down there!”

“Sideswipe…”

“I just want to play with him!”

“Why don’t you two make a deal? Hmm? How about after Sunstreaker finishes his drawing, you two can do an activity together?”

“Wait, what?” The connection to his pad finally broken, Sunstreaker directed a pleading and betrayed look to his carrier.

“What am _I_ supposed to do, then!” Sideswipe threw his arms in the air like an idiot.

“Find an activity, I don’t know! I have work to get back to, so please just get along for a few more joors!” And with that, Knock Out left the twins to their own devices yet again, his exit more stress induced than his entrance.

For a moment, the pair just looked at each other, Sideswipe at a loss and Sunstreaker frustrated. The latter rose from his seat on the floor and made it half a step before being interrogated.

“Where are you going? We have a deal don’t we?” Sideswipe burst out just barely below the audio-range of their recently departed carrier.

“Yeah. I get to finishing drawing first.”

“You’re just never going to finish! No fair!”

“Sucks for you.” Sideswipe evidently had one more slag left, this one accompanied by him falling backward in his seat, proving once again that he was, in fact, his carrier’s son.

Sunstreaker proceeded to wander the medbay—at least the sections of it he was allowed in—searching for a new, brother-free zone to work, avoiding that glitch Allodyn as best he could. There was a sizable stack of crates against one wall that faced several rows of medical berths, all filled with uncleared patients. It wasn’t a particularly lovely sight, but Sunstreaker figured no one could really bother him so long as he didn’t make a nuisance of himself. He climbed up the crates, taking extra care to be quiet. Once perched, he got back to work.

It was sometime later—he had done maybe two new works—when Sunstreaker heard a commotion. At first, he thought it might be his brother so ignored it. But then he heard laughter from someone he was sure he didn’t recognize. Without climbing down, he looked in the direction of the noise only to spot a black and white mech palling around with some of the medbay occupants. Well that was nothing new. The spy guy came around every so often to visit with people and even tried to talk to him on occasion. Sideswipe thought the mech was “the coolest”, but Sunstreaker didn’t care one way or another. The mech respected his wish for privacy and that was that.

Another voice chimed in, this one higher but with a similar accent. The other mech sounded younger, impossibly happier, and—

“What’s happening, cutie?” —and interrupted by Sideswipe.

Intrigue quickly suppressed, Sunstreaker set about his original task. There was something just a little off about the proportions…

“Hello!”

Every circuit in the young mech froze in an instant. Slowly, with his features drawn, Sunstreaker lifted his helm high enough to peer at the source of the voice. There, smiling brighter than he had thought possible, was a young Praxian. He had a bright red chevon that contrasted sharply with his grey color-scheme. The large doorwings on the mechling’s back fluttered in a happy little gesture that sent the energon right up to Sunstreaker’s faceplates.

“I’m Bluestreak!” His awe-struck state faltered for a moment as Sunstreaker fought to find at least a speck of blue on the other kid. No luck. Just grey. A pretty grey mind you, soft and cool, but certainly not blue.

It occurred to Sunstreaker that a conversation was initiated and all he had done thus far was stare dumb-struck like a moron.

“Sunstreaker,” he responded, “Cause I’m yellow.” Primus spare him.

“Neat! You are pretty yellow—a pretty yellow! I don’t know anyone who could pull off a yellow that isn’t gold. Even then, they can only really do accents. But you were born that way, so it works! Primus is much better at paint-jobs, I think. He seems to know what he’s doing. I sometimes wish he’d done something different with me though. I’m kind of plain. On the outside at least. I’m told I have a colorful personality!”

Sunstreaker’s back plating relaxed ever so slightly as the mechling’s name suddenly made sense. It was going to be one of _those_ kinds of conversations.

“That’s why I’m hanging out here actually! Apparently, my smile is infectious! I mean—not actually—I can make other people smile by smiling.” As Bluestreak’s brightness dimmed slightly under the weight of his own awkwardness, Sunstreaker threw up a corner of mouth as a lifeline. Just one corner. To save them both.

“Blue!” the older mech called from the side of some roughed-up soldier Sunstreaker couldn’t begin to guess the name of. With a quick “See ya!” and another smile, Bluestreak took off, leaving Sunstreaker alone again with his pad.

The plan was to return to what he was previously doing, but the desire to finish had left him, replaced by a new intrigue. Sunstreaker glanced back up to see the Bluestreak kid smiling away at some guy missing his left leg and hooked up to a bunch of monitors. Blue was seated on the other mech’s lap as the two sat next to the leg-lacking mech, coaxing a few words and even a grin out of him. Then they moved on to the patient next to him. Then the femme next to him. And the mech next to her. They traveled from person to person, either staying just long enough to wish them well or sharing a quick tale or two or encouraging a light chuckle.

It was odd, to say the least. But mesmerizing.

Sunstreaker hadn’t really noticed what he was doing until three more pages of his pad were filled with nothing but snapshots of those small, intimate moments. Moments Sunstreaker had done his best to capture. There was a war in the eyes of those soldiers, and for a brief second a layer of mirth seemed to cover it, residing at the surface until it seeped beneath their trauma.

He was so captivated by his own art that he didn’t notice when he was approached again.

“Whatcha doing?”

The freeze overtook him once again at the sound of that chipper voice.

“This,” he muttered as he held up his pad. Of course, the back was facing Bluestreak. And of course, the mechling thought that was an invitation. But how could he say no as Bluestreak beamed at him with a flutter of his wings and then proceeded to scale the crates to sit by his side. Not seeing a way out of the situation he had made himself, Sunstreaker stiffly handed over the pad and hoped for the best.

“You can draw? Dumb question—ignore that. It’s just that I can’t but I love this stuff! I like all art, really. Do you like music?” Bluestreak shot him another smile. All Sunstreaker could do was nod. “Me too! So does my sire! He got me into music and dancing. We sing all the time!”

There was an opening there, a point of common interest. Sunstreaker thought a moment about how to phrase his words as he watched Bluestreak appreciate—honestly see and analyze the art as he had been taught to do—the sketches of him with various injured soldiers.

“My carrier taught me.”

“How to art?” Bluestreak’s gaze didn’t leave the drawings.

“Yeah.” His stiff shoulders began to loosen.

“I really like this one!”

“Which?”

“This one! I like sketchy lines! And it really looks like Brawn! This one is good, too! There’re all great really…” Something changed. In an instant, the look in Bluestreak’s eyes deepened until they could have been mistaken for any of the other mechs Sunstreaker had drawn. Just as quickly, it was gone, mirth once again taking over. “Do you like to color?”

“Carrier?”

Knock Out looked up from the data pad he had been reviewing to see a pair of golden eyes hesitantly peering up at him over his desk. The twins knew better than to interrupt him while he was working, so Knock Out guessed that whatever his son needed he believed it couldn’t wait.

“What do you need, love?” he asked, soft and encouraging, as he set the pad down.

“I need to go to the rec room between second and third shift.”

Sunstreaker spoke so matter-of-factly it was almost amusing. The youngling could barely see above the desk, but he looked for all the world like he was making a business transaction.

“And why would that be?” he asked, trying very hard to suppress his smirk.

His youngling muttered something inaudible.

“You’ll have to speak up, darling.”

“We met a cute mech!” Sideswipe interjected from his perch on the office couch, a naughty grin plastered on his face.

Sunstreaker looked appalled, whipping around to glare at his brother. “I don’t think he’s cute!”

“Yeah you do!”

“Who did you meet?” Knock Out interrupted before the petty bickering could turn into a full-fledged argument.

“Bluestreak,” Sunstreaker muttered, eyes downcast.

“Bluestreak, hmm?” He ran the name through his memory files but came up blank. “Is he your age?”

“I think so,” Sunny answered, tone turning hopeful. “Can we go?”

The answer was not what his son wanted to hear, unfortunately. A thought occurred to him, though, before he could disappoint his poor mechling.

“Wait, when could you have met him? You two have been with me all cycle.”

“He came by with his sire when you were taking care of people,” Sunny explained. “He sat with me while I was drawing.” His eyes fluttered between his creator and the floor. “He really liked my art.”

“He came by with that visor mech!” Sides provided.

“We don’t call people that,” he chastised. Knock Out didn’t recall seeing anyone the twins couldn’t name who fit such a description, though. But with several units visiting the base from Iacon, that wasn’t unlikely.

Knock Out sat back in his desk chair, assessing the gentle request. He wasn’t due for a break until the third-to-fourth shift change, and with Breakdown away, it would take displacing patients to make the meetup happen.

Sunny walked around the desk to face him, hands fidgeting in front of him like he thought he was asking for more than he deserved. The shy, pleading look broke Knock Out’s resolve. His twins were the only younglings in Kima, thus, they lacked any number of friends their age. It was a small request to play with another mechling, who, Knock Out reminded himself, Sunny would likely never see again once the Iacon units left.

This was going to upset a plethora of other people, but it would mean the world to his lonely son.

The rec room was filled with the obnoxious sounds of seasoned soldiers catching what little reprieve they could. With the war front pushed back, now frighteningly close to Kima, the Autobot’s best were relocated to the base. It meant more work for the medbay and more action for the Wreckers, but the twins, at least, seemed delighted by increased activity.

Knock Out pulled several strings, negotiating patient swaps with First Aid, to get the twins there on time. They sat in a booth situated against a wall, Knock Out sipping at some energon as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker scanned the mechs entering and existing.

“I don’t see him, yet, Sunny.”

“Sunstreaker,” the youngling muttered absently.

“How about the two of you finish your energon,” Knock Out suggested, “so when he does come in, you’re free to play.”

Sides jumped down into his seat, bouncing a little in the cushion before taking his cube and practically inhaling it. Sunstreaker took a much calmer approach, though Knock Out could see the little tells in his son’s frame signaling how nervous he was. Neither hid their excitement over the bond, though, and Knock Out hoped they were relaying their infectious glee to their sire as well.

Not a breem went by before someone yelled across the room.

“Sunny!” a mechling screamed, the biggest smile Knock Out had ever seen splitting across his small face, his awkwardly large doorwings fluttering so fast he half expected the little thing to fly.

Sunstreaker crawled over his brother to leap off the booth, letting the other mechling snatch him up into a tight embrace, as though the two were old friends.

“You came!” the mechling—Bluestreak, he assumed—exclaimed. “I wasn’t sure if you could! My carrier said that all the medics have a different schedule so you probably couldn’t come, but _I_ said that _you_ said you could, but _he_ said you wouldn’t actually know, but looks like I was right! Because you’re here, and we can play and talk, and did you bring your drawing things? Nevermind, we can do art tomorrow. I’m just so happy you came!” The young Praxian bounced as he squeezed Sunstreaker tighter.

“I told you he was cute!” Sides said, grinning from his seat in the booth, a line of energon stuck to his top lip plate.

Knock Out reached over the table to wipe his son’s mouth, then stood up to greet the other mechling still entrapping his other son.

“You must be Bluestreak,” he said, offering a servo, which the youngling took readily.

“Yup!” he said. “Thanks for letting Sunny come see me!”

“Of course,” Knock Out replied, glancing over at Sunstreaker. He was wearing one of his rare small smiles, practically vibrating in excitement. It warmed Knock Out’s spark several degrees. How long had it been since his son was so easily overjoyed? “Stay where I can see you, and have fun.”

“Yes, sir,” Sunny agreed with a curt nod. Sides jumped down, and the three raced off, leaving Knock Out to sit in the booth on his own.

Not for very long, though.

“Seat taken?”

Knock Out stalled at the odd familiarity. He turned around in his seat to see a stocky mech with a flattering black and white finish and bright blue visor. All of a sudden, he was taken back to nine vorns ago, to the party the night before the twins’ emergence.

“You…” Knock Out started, “I know you.”

“I’m pretty memorable, I know,” the mech laughed, smirking cockily. “Sunstreaker’s yours, I take it?”

Knock Out nodded. “And Bluestreak yours? Funny how small the world can be.” He gestured to the opposite side of the booth for the mech to take it. “I never did get a chance to thank you.”

“What for?” he asked as he took the offered seat, his smile never leaving.

“The advice you gave me,” Knock Out explained, motioning with a suave servo. “About…how’d you put it…’leading by example’, was it?”

“See you took it.” The mech pointed to Knock Out’s face. “Don’t remember those.”

He ran a servo below his optic, emphasizing its shape and color. “One of my sons has a pair to match. Figured I wouldn’t leave him the odd one out.”

“’One of’?” the mech asked.

“I have two, yes.” He took a casual sip of his cube. “Twin mechs. They made quite the entrance, let me tell you.”

“They did, huh?”

Knock Out hummed. “Frightening. But it all worked out in the end for us.” He lifted his cube in victory.

The mech didn’t react likewise. Instead, he stared, long enough that his charming smile turned eerie, sending a shiver down Knock Out’s spinal strut.

“For _you_ , maybe.”

Dread consumed him, but there wasn’t anything he could pinpoint that would warrant the threat lying amongst the curt statement.

“Well,” Knock Out began, lowering his ration, “you got Bluestreak, I got my twins, and now the three can be friends. Am I wrong?”

“Very. Blue is older than them.”

The way the mech was looking at him, Knock Out felt as though his very spark was being scrutinized. And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.

“You got no clue who I am.”

Knock Out shook his head in the negative despite it being a statement of fact and not a question.

“I had to make a stop by Kima on my way to Delta Tower to check in with Greenlight. You know her, I take it? She was my physician before she was yours.” The mech leaned on an elbow atop the table. “She was nearby when the tower was attacked. Didn’t matter though. Stray shots don’t discriminate.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping and becoming thicker. “I led the defense of Delta. _I_ was the reason the tower’s intel was destroyed before the ‘Cons could take it. My sparkling died for it.”

The admission hung heavy between them. All the guilt and the turmoil Knock Out had long since forgotten resurfaced.

“I’m so sorr—”

“And you know what I was told after I woke up?” Knock Out had an idea, but there was no escaping now. “That some medic spilled everything to Ravage without a moment’s thought. A carrying medic, would you believe?”

Knock Out had excuses at the ready, a byproduct of orns of accusations thrown his way after the fall of Delta. But they were too far away to recall, trapped as he was in the other mech’s bright, furious light of the visor.

“Tell me, mech,” he said, casually flipping a hand open as if to offer something. “Why is it my son died but both of yours got to live?”

There was no good response to that. Why indeed? Why did good people die and the evil flourish? Why do the power hungry rise while the starved fall? There was no one at fault, though. Frustration paved a way into his spark as Knock Out came to understand what his companion was insinuating.

“How is it my fault that I chose my sons lives over all else?” he growled out, perhaps unwisely, but he was too invested in his own irritations to care.

“It’s on you that my baby died for _nothing_.”

Knock Out empathized to some degree. Really, he did. If the roles were reversed, he too would enact some form of revenge on those responsible for taking his sons from him. But the blame could not solely be placed on him.

“It’s on _you_ for not better prioritizing,” Knock Out bit back. He sat forward, smiling slyly. “Don’t come over here and shift the blame just because you chose differently than me and regretted it.”

The mech rushed into a stand, hovering over the table and bringing his face uncomfortably close to Knock Out’s. Spite kept Knock Out from flinching.

“I’m going to tell you something, and you’re going to remember it for the rest of your pitiful life,” the mech hissed, low and piercing. “My son’s name was Harmonic. Because of you, he lies greyed in a grave for no reason other than for your selfishness.”

Knock Out gathered his stupidity, his bravery having abandoned him. “And what might his neglectful carrier’s name be?”

The mech sneered, an ugly expressions ill befitting such a handsome face. “If your sons want to keep seeing mine, you’ll have to work something out with command.” He rose, towering above the table and its captive for a moment of dramatics, then stalked away.

Knock Out cycled his vents in an effort calm himself down. Threats had been thrown his way, sure, but none quite so severe as _that_. He looked over, watching as the mech stlked away, stopping to smile at the younglings chasing Ironhide around the room.

“Primus.”

Knock Out glanced in the direction of the voice, someone sitting in the booth just behind him, to better listen in.

“I haven’t seen Jazz that intense in vorns.”

Jazz… _Jazz_ …as in the Autobot Third in Command, Jazz.

The connection had him burying his helm in his hands. Of all the mechs to anger, Knock Out had to go and infuriate the leader of _Spec Ops_.

“I can’t believe it…”

“Well, do so, because I have the entire exchange engrained in my processor now.” Knock Out huffed. “And enough stress to last me a lifetime.”

Breakdown drew him closer against his side but didn’t say anything in response.

Knock Out endured three anxiety-filled cycles navigating the situation with Jazz’s youngling and the twins alone before he began to feel himself slipping into madness. It was a relief like no other when the Wreckers finally returned. Originally, he wanted to keep the conversation as contained as possible, his plan to relay what had happened only over a spark merge. Such luxuries were, evidently, not an option. Between the twins, work, and the other Wreckers, there was no chance to hide away in a storage closet. But Knock Out wasn’t up for waiting any longer to divulge.

“It’s just weird,” Breakdown finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was always told Commander Jazz got along with everyone.”

Knock Out shifted to fold his legs under himself, struggling to get comfortable on the common room couch. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Have you told Pharma? He has connections with the higher ups, right?”

“Yes, but Bluestreak has two creators, the other being the Chief Tactician,” Knock Out explained. “No amount of influence short of knowing the Prime, himself, can help me.”

“Sunny and Sides are friends with the kid, though? That’s something.”

Knock Out scoffed and shoved his face into Breakdown’s side.

“Knock Out…serious question.”

He lifted his face to gaze up at his handsome conjunx. “Serious answer.”

“Do you…I don’t know.” Breakdown shook his helm, his field flooding with a mix of terribly dark thoughts. “Do you wish you had done differently?”

That took no thought whatsoever. “No,” he said, emphasizing his answer by gripping Breakdown’s waist. “I don’t care what Jazz said. Nothing is worth losing our boys.”

Breakdown nodded his relief, his whole frame relaxing with the affirmation.

Knock Out moved to straddle his conjunx, sitting in his lap. He cupped the orange face in his hands and tugged him into a kiss. Not a passionate one, though a great deal of emotion was passed along the intimate connection. There was no intent for the act to lead to anything more. Knock Out just needed to bridge the gap between them.

When they pulled away, they kept their helms pressed together in a moment of solace.

“I _love_ you,” Knock Out assured, nuzzling Breakdown’s face for good measure. “I wouldn’t trade you or the twins for anything in the world. Scrap everyone else.”

“I love you, too.” Breakdown placed a hand on the back of his neck, the other supporting Knock Out at his lower back. “I just wish things were easier.”

“It’s all relative, I suppose.” Unfounded grief snuck up on him, as it had since his conversation with Jazz. “Can you even _imagine_ that kind of loss?”

“Yeah,” Breakdown said. “Every now and then, I see Red in the twins. I wonder what happened to him.”

Knock Out pressed closer. “He’d be an adult, by now.”

“Do you think he joined the Autobots?”

“I try to picture him somewhere far away from here,” Knock Out admitted. “Off on some remote planet, free of the war and all its complications.”

Breakdown hugged him closer. “Sometimes…it’s easier to believe he died.”

Knock Out couldn’t disagree. It wasn’t his preferred manner of handling the grief, but it seemed to work for his conjunx.

“Let’s climb back into the berth,” Knock Out suggested. He kissed Breakdown once more before standing, servos outstretched. “We have two, beautiful, very much _alive_ mechlings to snuggle with.”

His gentle reminder of the bright parts of their lives brought a smile to Breakdown’s face, and Knock Out felt himself falling for him all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to be very transparent about what's going in my life.
> 
> Someone I was quite close to recently committed suicide. I want to mention this out of a love for anyone in this world struggling with depression and severe negativities that may drive them to end their life. My friend, please, find the parts of life you hold dear or the little things that only happen because you are there to make them happen. Even if it's small to you, your contribution to the universe could mean the world to someone or something else. Please keep all of our brothers/sisters/or others who deal with these struggles and the loved ones who care so deeply for them in your heart.
> 
> Let this also show that even with fictional characters, I don't view death and life lightly. There are themes I explore in this fic that are intense, and I do not write them for the shock value. 
> 
> Stay safe everyone. Stay kind. And love one another.


	7. Later, We Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up. Pun intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reference: I have Cybertronian adulthood starting at about 30 vorns. So if, say, someone is 20, they're more a teenager than young adult.

There were several things Knock Out never wanted his sons to know about.

Some couldn’t be helped. Unless the war ended soon, the pair were destined to experience the pain of taking another person’s life and the subsequent numbness to death. Loss was another inevitable. The more friends the twins made with the older soldiers, the more disappointment they would feel when fewer and fewer returned.

More than that, Knock Out never wanted them to know what he was.

It was embarrassing, to say the least, to be created by someone of less value than an inanimate object. Under no circumstances did he want his creations to bear the burden of his previous function.

But that, like most of life’s terrors, he could not hide them from forever.

He hadn’t known the mech’s name nor recognized his frame. But Crimson Dawn was apparently an experience worth remembering.

The usual stares didn’t faze him. Neither did the whistles and calls. It was when his pelvis had been grabbed, in the middle of the rec room, in full view of all its occupants and his young family, that Knock Out began to panic. He only became more mortified when his stage name was loudly proclaimed in reference to the mech’s favorite pastime before the war, and an exchange of services was offered.

Knock Out couldn’t look at the twins after that. He couldn’t face their questions, let alone their rejection. So, he made up his mind to recharge in the common room that night to be alone in his remorse.

But nothing could be done to avoid the inevitable.

It took some gentle prodding and encouraging words for Knock Out to finally concede. He sat on the couch, a son in each arm, his lover on the floor in front of him. The three waited patiently as Knock Out chose his words carefully.

“You know what it feels like to love someone?” he asked, earning quick nods from each of the twins. “It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it? And there are so many different ways to love someone. Like, for instance the way I love you two. It’s different from the way I love your sire.

“To love romantically can be…addictive. It feels _good_ in ways you won’t understand until you experience it yourselves. But trust me when I say, some people will do anything to have that feeling.”

Knock Out steeled himself. “Before I became a doctor, I used to help people feel loved. But it wasn’t like what your sire and I have. This was…playing pretend. You see, even a poor imitation of the romantic kind of love can feel good. I used to pretend to love others to help them feel satisfied, and they would pay me in return.”

“They didn’t play along with you?” Sides asked, his small, innocent face scrunched up in confusion.

“Sort of,” Knock Out explained. “When two people pretend to love one another, only one of them will leave feeling good, and the other will be hurt in the process.” He hesitated, debating his next statement. “I would…I would pretend to love someone, let them hurt me, and in return, I was paid.”

Sunstreaker furrowed his brow while Sides looked up at him with uncertain eyes. “Why would you do that? That sounds awful!” Sides exclaimed, outraged at such a ridiculous scenario.

“Because I had only two options: play along, or suffer something much worse. And I needed the money to live.” Knock Out hugged the younglings tight against him. “The world wasn’t a kind place before you two came along.”

“That’s for sure,” Breakdown agreed.

Sunstreaker shot his sire a look of utter betrayal. “Where were you? Why didn’t you help carrier?”

Knock Out stared down at the angry youngling jumping to his defense. He was touched, despite how misdirected Sunny’s distrust was.

“No, sweetspark,” he said gently. “Your sire helped me more than you realize. Every chance he could, he would show me the _best_ kind of love. We didn’t have to pretend around each other, and he showed me how good _real_ love can feel.” He leaned down to kiss the top of Sunny’s helm. “And he helped me make the two people I cherish most in this world.”

“But you don’t pretend anymore, right?” Sides asked, tears welling up in his crimson optics at the prospect of somehow hurting his carrier just by caring about him.

“Not anymore. Not for a long, long time.”

That eased Sideswipe’s worries. He nodded then nuzzled into his creator, Sunstreaker copying on the opposite side.

“I need you both to promise us something,” Breakdown said, his uncharacteristically serious tone steeling the twins’ attentions. “Don’t _ever_ pretend to love someone.”

“All it does is hurt them,” Knock Out elaborated.

Both younglings nodded sincerely, spurring a small chorus of promises.

Knock Out rested better that night than he thought he would. His sons curled up against him, his lover laid next to him, and the world felt much simpler.

It was never fun watching Breakdown leave, but it was a joy like no other to greet him as he returned. They had a sort of ritual now, after twelve vorns with the twins. Knock Out would take the cycle off, take the twins to the rec room early for fueling, and let them play about in the shuttle bay until the Wreckers’ ship docked. Once their sire was in their sights, nothing could stop the twins from racing towards him and leaping into his strong embrace.

This cycle was no different. Knock Out watched attentively as Sides and Sunstreaker chased each other, weaving between the stationary ships, fussing when they strayed too far.

Eventually, the _Demolisher_ appeared in the sky above them. Knock Out’s spark spun faster as it usually did at the sight. They waited impatiently as the ship came to a stop and opened its main hatch to reveal the Wreckers.

“Sire!” Sides yelled, overjoyed, and took off with his brother to the band of maniacs.

Breakdown did likewise, running over to meet his sons halfway. The three collided with loud sounds of elation, Breakdown bending down to pick up both twins and spinning them around.

Knock Out took his time, soaking in the innocent display. When he finally was seen by his conjunx, the smile he was dealt melted him.

“Hi!” Breakdown greeted, strained by strong emotions and taunt features.

He grinned right back and struggled to contain himself. “Hey there, stranger.”

“Sire, Ironhide said we could go to the shooting range with him later!”

“No, he didn’t,” Sunny corrected.

“Yeah he did!” Sides fought, leaning over to smack his brother, but Breakdown pulled him back to his side just out of reach. “If we got sire to come with!”

“We’ll think about it,” Breakdown interjected. “Not sure how I feel about you two handling weapons.”

“Perhaps later,” Knock Out offered, raising his optic ridges to signal to his conjunx the use of the code.

Breakdown nodded back with a smirk. “Yeah…later.”

Sunstreaker frowned at his sire’s terrible poker face. “We know that means never.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Sides argued and scowled at his traitorous twin.

“Knock Out.”

At the sound of Kup’s call, he sidestepped to see past Breakdown, looking over the gruff commander and the roughed up crew finally catching up to them.

“Someone in need of a doctor?” Knock Out asked smoothly.

Kup beckoned him over, a ways away from the group. Knock Out didn’t hesitate to follow, but he panicked for a moment over what required such a serious atmosphere.

“I need you to look over Warpath,” Kup said in a quiet voice so only Knock Out could hear.

“That _is_ my job,” he pointed out, equally hushed. Something in the way Kup was intently looking at him tipped Knock Out off. A quick glance at the crew, and the red tank was easily spotted, standing upright in seemingly fine health despite some cosmetic damage. “There’s something wrong with him?”

“You tell me,” Kup huffed. He turned to his unit to address them. “’Pac! Get War to come over here.”

“Yes, sir.” Impactor reacted readily, motioning to his comrade to follow him.

“WHAT?”

The shout was far louder than Knock Out would ever deem appropriate, and he grimaced at the assault to his audials.

“You…need…a…doc-tor!” Impactor shouted back, clapping Warpath on the shoulder.

“I’M FINE!” Warpath shouted back, shoving the hand off his shoulder. “JUST LEAVE ME— WHAM! —ALONE!”

“He get hit in the helm or something?” Sunstreaker asked, sparking several amused chuckles from the others.

“Or something,” Whirl answered.

“Well?”

Knock Out stared at Kup, looking for the screw that had to be missing. “ _Well_? What happened to him?”

“Hey!” Sides spoke up. Knock Out glanced over to his youngling, now back on the ground and weaving between the Wreckers like he was looking for something. “Where’s Broadside?”

It was then Knock Out noticed there were only twelve Wreckers present, excluding Kup.

“He’s, uh,” Breakdown started, stumbling over his words. “He didn’t—he’s somewhere way better. With Topspin.”

“But he said he’d take us flying when he got back,” Sides said, all his earlier joy fading into hurt and betrayal.

Breakdown knelt and held out a hand for his distraught son to take, hugging a confused Sunstreaker close against him. “No, he didn’t mean to leave. He’s just…not coming back”

“He’s dead?” Sides guessed, tears welling up in his optics as Breakdown nodded solemnly. “Why’s he dead?”

Knock Out couldn’t take the looks of grief his sons wore, so he turned back to Kup, a question in his eyes.

“Broad got a grenade lodged in his face,” Kup explained. “Top and War tried to get it out of him, but it went off on them. Breakdown managed to save War’s life, but Topspin’s spark exploded in the blast, and Broad’s helm blew clean off.”

Knock Out swore, glancing back at his mechlings crying in their sire’s arms, Impactor leaning over them as he tried to help comfort them. Their emerging sense of loss flooded over the bond to Knock Out’s spark, the wave of grief over someone he didn’t particularly care about a highly unwelcome emotion.

“It gets better,” Breakdown assured in a soft voice. “I promise, it does.”

“Just remember all the good times you two had with them,” Impactor suggested, running a hand down each of the twins back. “Maybe me and your sire can take you driving?”

Sides made a pained grunting noise. “No! _You_ play with us! Broadside takes us joyriding ‘cause he has jets and flies and it’s not the same!”

“People die, kid,” Pyro said casually. “It happens.”

Knock Out glared at the Wrecker and walked over to crouch next to his sons, Impactor wisely moving out his way. He placed a chaste kiss on both of them then looked to Breakdown. “How about you three go back to the room?”

Breakdown took the hint, and before either son could protest, he lifted them up once again and headed for the entrance to the base.

“SOMETHING— WHAM! POW! —WRONG WITH THE TINIES?”

Knock Out took a deliberate in-vent. “Let’s get him to medical.” He waved to Warpath, urging him to follow. “I need to see if there’s something’s loose or pressing on a processor lobe.”

“If we can fix this without a psychoanalyst, that’d be ideal,” Kup added as he fell into step behind Knock Out, dragging his stubborn subordinate with him. “The rest of you are dismissed.”

“Why the need for downplay?” Knock Out wondered aloud, side-eying the commander.

“If he gets IDed as insane, he can’t run with the Wreckers,” he explained. “That happens, War’ll end up in some asylum. He couldn’t handle that, being out of a group. I’m sure of it.”

“WHERE— WHAM! —WE GOING, KUP?”

Knock Out glanced back at Warpath and considered the truth behind Kup’s words. Still, he’d have his work cut out for him.

How long had it been? At _least_ half a centivorn, for sure, since he had found himself in such a precarious situation, some technicalities notwithstanding.

There was something vaguely…was familiar the word? Nostalgic? Reminiscent, perhaps? Whatever the emotion behind it, the feeling of an unfamiliar frame above his was not particularly pleasant. Thrilling, yes. But would he be inclined to repeat this? Not in the slightest.

Sure, there were hints, now looking back. Not enough to anticipate such drastic actions, however, especially as observant as Knock Out thought himself.

There _was_ a great deal of preamble, ironically. None of it he was able to escape, but the warning certainly made a difference in the end. And what an end, indeed.

Such casual, ordinary beginnings. Knock Out stopped by the barracks to retrieve Sunny’s art pad on his way to the rec room. Pyro “just so happened” to be by at the same time. How convenient that was, what with Pyro’s apparent need for medical assistance.

Really, Knock Out thought, part of the blame ought to fall on him for getting in the situation at all. “I need a doctor”, he had said with such polish. So unoriginal, but it was enough to catch him, his guard down around a trusted comrade.

Was it _trust_ that led him into the berthroom? No, not really. Knock Out didn’t trust so freely. He especially didn’t have confidence in those who sought to mitigate him and his accomplishments with demeaning gazes and rude comments. But there was a social contract he had signed when he began his time with the Wreckers in which he pledged to be the one constant the group could place their lives in, in addition to one another.

A significant distinction, really. In the context of said contract, though, perhaps Knock Out _was_ entirely in the wrong.

He shook his helm resolutely. Absolutely not, he told himself. His actions were perfectly justified. He had been cornered, locked in the steel walls of a place he felt secure in with someone, though he was uncomfortable company, had saved his lover’s life enough times to warrant feeling safe around.

Not like any of that mattered, though. What good was his word in accusations of assault? The only evidence anyone would care about was Pyro.

That line of thought sparked a whole horde of uncertainties. What would happen to his twins if he was locked up for life? What would Breakdown think? Surely his lover would know the true story, useless as his support was, but that wouldn’t save him from scrutiny and distrust.

In a quick flick of his wrist, Knock Out had ruined their lives. And that was when an idea came to mind.

Part of him wished Pyro was alive to feel his innards burn, the fear in his eyes as he had died a prolonged experience. No one else there to witness the sweet irony of the Wrecker’s intent to defile him ending with him engulfed in his own fire. Knock Out figured he would have to settle for this.

He heaved Pyro off him, throwing the corpse unceremoniously to the floor. With a degree of grace that encouraged what little self-esteem he had left, Knock Out moved from laying across Pyro’s berth to standing at the ped-end of the body.

A debate took place over whether it mattered where Pyro was found. He decided it was more believable if the narrative involved Pyro going to recharge and simply never waking up. With the experimental equipment he was packing, that wasn’t an unlikely scenario.

Knock Out struggled to lift the dead weight into its berth, his strength fueled by desperation. What other choice was there? He asked himself that question over and over again, finding no answers but this.

The swift slash to Pyro’s neck was enlarged, hopefully prompting the frame to split apart there like it was a natural consequence of metal flesh curling from heat. Next were the combustion tanks hidden behind the thick, armored chest. This was a careful procedure. Pyro needed to ignite without him in the way, and the cut needed to look nonmanufactured.

A jagged slice, quick hands, and a perfectly timed kick had the flammable continents spilling into the rest of the body’s innerworkings. After a tense beat of silence, the chemicals ignited with the energon still in the fuel lines.

Knock Out watched with interest as Pyro burst and popped and melted under the intense heat of his own weapons. The surgeon incisions disappeared as the interior metal liquified and distorted the armor, the flame retardant not doing the body no favors aside from creating a patchwork of untouched plating.

Some energon bubbled and spit across the room as the berth collapsed, landing spects on Knock Out’s scratched plating. He looked down at himself, at the evidence of death and the foreign paint littering his front and thighs.

He could use a shower.

When the spark merge ended, Knock Out peered uncertainly at Breakdown, awaiting his verdict. He had sensed all the hate and betrayal in his lover’s spark directed at his fallen friend among the fear for Knock Out’s life, but he needed the confirmation that everything would be okay.

Breakdown didn’t say a word. They sat on the floor of a stall in the washracks, the stream of solvent concealing the sounds of their heavy venting. The lack of speech didn’t really bother Knock Out, though, especially once Breakdown drew him in closer, hugging him to his larger chest.

Those arms always managed to make Knock Out feel safe. In the secure embrace, nothing bad could happen to him. He could withstand deep sadness, fight through the pain of emergence, recover from any trauma. And pressed together this close, any anxieties plaguing Breakdown he could hug away, and all the grief his lover carried could be shared between them. They could stay there in their little world of solace for a lifetime. But that wasn’t an option.

“Let’s get you cleaned off.”

Knock Out nodded but didn’t move. He needed just a moment longer in Breakdown’s lap, cocooned in this safe space. Breakdown let him be for another breem, then began the slow process of standing with Knock Out still in his arms, a feat of strength and mobility that had become easier since having the twins.

They worked in silence to remove the evidence Pyro left behind on Knock Out’s frame. After centivorns of practice, the ordeal required little thought.

Once they were done, Breakdown kissed his frame, doing what he could to return the feeling of pleasure to the abused areas. He then stood, looking down at him with sad eyes.

“You’re sure you won’t be suspected?”

“Certain of it,” Knock Out assured. He wrapped his arms around his lover’s thicker waist, resting his chin on his chassis. “There’s evidence of the both of us entering the barracks, but I left with Sunstreaker’s things and promptly brought them to him. The blanket I grabbed should have been enough to hide any blemishes. And he’ll be found in his own room having died by an internal defect in his flame throwers.”

Breakdown chuckled, but it lacked any of his usual humor and joy. “You thought of everything, huh?”

Knock Out didn’t need to answer that. They both knew of the skills that accompanied paranoia.

“No one knew where Pyro was? Or what he was doing?” he asked.

Breakdown thought for a long moment before answering. “The guys said he was heading back to the barracks to doze or something a while ago. Impactor seemed out the loop.”

“Do you trust them?”

A pained look crossed his face, feelings of insecurities invading his EM field. “No,” he answered, voice thick with emotion. “In a battle, without a doubt. They wouldn’t kill me, either ‘cause they like the twins or ‘cause I’m the one who saves their afts when they’re bleeding out.” He locked gazes with Knock Out. “I trust ‘Pac, though.”

Knock Out nodded. “I think Whirl sympathizes with us. What about Bulkhead?”

“He hasn’t been our friend for a long time.”

“So, Whirl and Impactor, then?”

“And Kup. He likes you, for sure.”

“And I have First Aid,” Knock Out added, totaling up their few friends. “Pharma is a wildcard. He’d be with us only if it suited him.”

Breakdown looked off, staring at the washrack’s tile in thought. “Who do we trust with the twins?”

That took little thought. “First Aid, without question. If something _were_ to happen, I want him to take them.”

Breakdown nodded. “They’d have a family friend and Defensor to guard them. And you know I like Aid. Out of the Wreckers…I think just ‘Pac. I haven’t been worried leaving them with him right now.”

Knock Out couldn’t disagree with that. “Whirl would die before he let the twins come to any harm. Impactor, though, would remove them from the dangerous situation entirely.”

There was a moment of thoughtful silence, save the sounds of rushing solvents.

“Babe…what are we planning for?”

Knock Out could only shrug. He felt certain he left no trace of his involvement with Pyro’s scorched corpse. There was just something keeping him on edge. It wasn’t the murder. It wasn’t the war. It wasn’t even his and Pharma’s late-night activities or his rude coworkers. But there lied in him a profound since of dread.

“Maybe,” he responded, mulling over just how he felt and what he needed to be so sure of. “Maybe it just helps to know we have friends here.”

It had been a rather long day for Pharma between treating patients, organizing the facility, and attending to his own personal responsibilities. He had hopes that with the recent death of a soldier in his own quarters some form of entertainment would arise from the fiery incident, but alas, the universe aimed to bore him.

“As you can see,” he huffed, having trouble concealing how much he wanted the ordeal to end already, “the autopsy reports show signs of a malfunction in his fire arms’ fuel tanks. Thus, burning poor Pyro alive.” Pharma tossed his copy of the report on his desk and leaned back in his chair.

Kup didn’t appear to be as through with the topic. “We’re sure of this?” he asked as he analyzed his own copy.

Pharma lifted a sarcastic optic ridge, letting Kup know he had taken offense at the jab to his medbay’s performance.

“I don’t get it,” one of the Wreckers stated in a warbled speech pattern that always took Pharma by surprise.

“What’s not to get?” another asked.

“How this isn’t a murder, ‘Pac!” the warbler fought back. Unnecessarily defensive, in Pharma’s opinion.

“We know Knock Out was in the barracks the same time Pyro was,” someone else chimed in, equally aggressive.

The mention of his colleague tipped his intrigue. Pharma folded his servos on his desk and leaned in.

“What does Knocks got to do with this, Bulk?”

“Same time, same place, but only Knock Out leaves alive. He’s got everything to do with it.”

“You really think he would kill one of us?” the Wrecker shouted, stomping a ped towards his green comrade. “He’s been our doc for vorns!”

“But we know he didn’t like Pyro,” another interjected.

“Did anyone?” a single-opticked Wrecker pointed out. The dry tone got a small chuckle out of Pharma, but it only angered the others.

“That’s enough!” Kup ordered, reining in the heated mechs to a light simmer. “This was an accident, nothing more. Take issue with your medic, fine, but accusing him of murder with no good reason crosses a line.”

“But he has a reason—!”

“Seaspray!” Kup reprimanded. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I do,” someone else spoke up in challenge, the same helmet-head who had been arguing against the others. Pharma was disappointed by the lack of shock. “Go on! What makes you so sure Knocks would—”

“There was a whole thing,” a rotary spit out. “It just wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

The whole room silenced. Everyone turned their gazes to their comrade, some staring with betrayal, others disturbed interest. Pharma merely grinned at the drama unfolding.

“Rotorstorm,” Kup started with a low, commanding tone. “What ‘thing’?”

The Wrecker under scrutiny shuffled on his peds. “We thought if one of us could get Shiny to slip, we could prove he’s a liar.” He looked amongst his gathered crew, desperation in his eyes. “I didn’t want Pyro to do it. He gave Shiny the creeps, and I didn’t think he’d act right.”

“You went along with it!” the round, green Wrecker argued.

“How many of you knew about this?” Kup questioned, anger radiating from him in fumes.

Nine of the twelve mechs raised their hands hesitantly.

This was getting good, Pharma thought to himself. He no longer had control over the grin splitting his face nor his optics as they widened.

Kup hummed sharply and shook his helm, eyes downcast. “So,” Kup huffed, lifting his helm to distribute a glare among those deserving of it. “Just Springer, Impactor, and Whirl were left out of it, then?”

“We didn’t drag War into this either,” someone said quietly, “or Breakdown. Obviously.”

Kup nodded. “What was the plan, exactly?”

No one spoke up.

Out of guilt, Pharma summarized. That was the last bit of information he needed to piece together the sequence of events. He leaned back in his chair, letting the tense silence build before he shattered it.

“I can image a _small_ collection of scenarios that could end with energon on Knock Out’s hands.” Pharma smirked as the others flinched at his sudden speech, apparently having forgotten he was there.

“He was only supposed to flirt,” a yellow mech admitted.

“Sandstorm!”

“I don’t want any part of this!” the mech argued. “Pyro must have grabbed at Knock Out or something, it’s not that hard to believe!”

“That doesn’t give Shiny the right to murder him!”

“It does, actually,” Pharma supplied. The loud, green Wrecker directed an ugly look his direction, but his grin only widened. “It would be an act of self-defense.”

Kup shook his helm, incredulous. “What brought on—”

“Ask _him_!” The warbler pointed an accusatory digit in Pharma’s direction. “He’s the one Knock Out’s been fragging!”

Pharma stared at the large blue harpooner and his equally sure comrades, not really believing what he heard. A laugh bubbled up from a place of utter confusion at the ridiculous situation. It only served to further anger his accusers, but he couldn’t find the will to stop.

“You—” he paused to vent “—you _actually_ think that I would want anything to do with my _subordinate_?” His laughter grew louder, and he bent over in his seat with the loss of control.

“We’re serious!”

“Oh, I’m sure you think you are,” Pharma mocked, straightening as he regained his composure.

“The twins—”

“Can’t possibly be mine.” Pharma stood, leaning on his hands on the desk. “Let’s start with the fact that flyer anatomy is genetically dominant. If they had any relation to me, the two grounders would be airborne.”

“So, let’s get this straight,” the helmeted Wrecker interjected. “To prove Knocks and Pharma were clanging, you sent _Pyro_ to go flirt with him and report back.” He crossed his arms and scowled at his teammates. “And you think Knocks killed him ‘cause he thought Pyro was going to rape him?”

“Not _rape_ ,” the rotary defended. “Maybe got a little too close—”

“Knock Out’s been grabbed before and resisted the urge to murder the fools,” Pharma added. “So, let’s add all this to the report, shall we? That your dead mech tried to rape your unit’s private doctor. I’m sure that will bode well.”

The unit had the sense to look uncertain, some even frightened. Kup, however, was as level as always.

“You know it won’t, Pharma.” Kup made his way to the desk, leaning over on his hands to mimic the medic. “I got one in psych therapy and one who had younglings with his doctor. Add on our mortality rate. If another gets marked down as a rapist, dead or not, my unit’ll be called into question. But you know that, don’t you?”

Pharma’s smug smirk turned suave, and he tilted his head for the full effect. “Do you want this to go away?”

Kup cycled his vents then nodded. “What do you want?”

“You accept the accident report. Pyro died all on his own with no mention of my top surgeon.”

“That’s it?” Kup asked, the distrust clear in his tone.

“ _You_ don’t want your unit dismantled. _I_ don’t want my Chief of Surgery occupied with a homicide investigation. So, let’s both keep to our silence, and we all win.”

“This isn’t right.”

Kup looked over his shoulder at the mech who spoke. “’Pac, this isn’t the time or place.”

“But we know Knock Out was probably assaulted! He should get something out of this!”

“He gets normalcy, you idiot,” Pharma said.

A young looking green Wrecker standing next to helmet-head placed a calming hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You know it won’t do him any good anyway, ‘Pac.”

“It should.”

“Listen to Springer,” Kup ordered. “We need to let this go.”

“Agreed.” Pharma extended a servo to the Wrecker leader, who seized it in his prosthetic hand. Their servos clasped, the two nodded to each other, confirming the transaction.

The Wreckers funneled out his office immediately after with a variety of emotions clear on their faces. Pharma sat back and watched them leave, basking in his good fortune.

For vorns, he had held himself level with his underling, waiting for an opportunity he knew would eventually arrive. He had thought that perhaps the twins would be his gateway to advantage, but _this_ was far more secure and encompassed a unit he despised.

There was no doubting Knock Out’s ability to kill and conceal, the Wreckers merely supplied the plausible motive. Events lined up, from Knock Out leaving shift right before Pyro’s time of death to his skittish behavior following that cycle.

Pharma onlined his terminal and connected the autopsy’s data pad to it. After a quick download, he opened his messaging system. Knock Out, he was sure, would be relieved to find his little clean up job had succeeded, ignorantly bliss to Pharma’s newfound leverage over him.

Satisfaction was not something Sideswipe easily earned. There wasn’t a challenge he could deny, a bet he couldn’t not win. And if things had been different, he was sure a normal life’s boredoms would have been too suffocating.

There wasn’t a time in his young life that he didn’t feel a primitive _need_. The need to move. The need to feel and feel strongly. The need to protect and be cared for. The need to love, love hard, and be loved just as intensely.

His family understood. His sire loved so easily and with such devotion, even if the recipient didn’t deserve it. His carrier was driven, consumed by that same itch to achieve. His twin echoed the need for reprieve, however that might be obtained. It made for a thrilling life, at least in his youth. Everyday felt like some grand scheme. It was them against the greatest evils the world had to offer.

And Sideswipe learned early on how much evil there was. When he was eleven, someone tried to assault his carrier, and Sides bared the guilt of doing nothing to help for orns afterward. When he was twelve, his speed buddy took an explosive to the head. When he was fourteen, he watched a mech die in the medbay, his spark dimming until his eyes went dark and his frame greyed. When he was fifteen, he watched his sire return to Kima in a stretcher, and wondered to himself what they would have done if his creator’s light had gone out. By seventeen, he could shoot a gun as well as any seasoned soldier. At eighteen, when a Decepticon force raided his home, he killed someone. Without pity. Without remorse. Without much thought.

He couldn’t say when, amidst all the other chaos in his younger vorns, the pranking began. His creators would tell him he was a trouble maker from the beginning, but really, Sideswipe could only remember the disruptions he caused. Actually, methodically pulling pranks, though? Who knows.

Ironhide was always a fun target since the older commander was so easy to forgive a cute youngling. Even when said youngling had replaced his blaster rounds with containers of solvent. They had spent the rest of that particular cycle chasing each other through the halls, playfully firing off shots of soap and subsequently cleaning the base.

The medbay wasn’t much for inspiration. But Allodyn was a joy to pester, always on edge with a scowl that had Sides believing the myth that his face could become stuck in an ugly expression if worn for too long. First Aid would subtly encourage him, smiling at his coworkers’ misfortunes behind his mask and visor. Sides decided early on that Aid could only be dealt the harmless pranks, those he knew the medic enjoyed. The more vengeful were given to anyone who dared to shoot Aid or his carrier dirty looks.

The Wreckers were hit or miss. Impactor loved his jokes and would even help him set up some pranks. Whirl was crazier than he was and all the more fun for it. Sometimes the newer members would go along with his ideas to avoid upsetting him. The rest of the lot were a bunch of duds until they started on a war story. None were prank targets, for good reason. That was one of the few rules Sides actually followed.

All in all though, pranking was just something to do. Some people loved it, some people hated it. Some only liked his brand of humor if it wasn’t directed at them. It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t give a frag.

Sideswipe spent most of his young life telling himself that lie.

He couldn’t say when he first noticed, but if he hazarded a guess, it would have been around the time he began pranking. People stared. They saw something in him they couldn’t reconcile with and didn’t bother to try.

The “Terror Twins” were no good trouble-makers, that red one especially. They could tell just by looking at them. They could see through his red eyes to something horrid and untrustworthy. They looked at him the same way they looked at his carrier. The same way they looked at their enemies.

But people could assume what they liked, Sides couldn’t change that. He told himself it was mere coincidence that his reputation aligned with the assumptions.

It all built up inside his spark until he just couldn’t contain himself any longer. After too many possessions and public properties were demolished or vandalized, his creators decided there was something wrong. That was when his sire started sparring with him.

With every punch, he threw away his frustrations. With every roar, his anger escaped to the stale air. There, in the training rooms, lied release. He would rush in, kick wildly, leap around in fluid, controlled motions that earned him his sire’s praise and uplifted him in ways he didn’t know possible.

But was it satisfaction?

Sideswipe couldn’t really say. He laughed with his whole being, he raced towards life’s every victory, he fought harder and with more passion than anyone he knew.

He lived in every moment like it might be his last. He threw his love into every goodbye to his friends, fully aware they may never return. His hugged his family close with all the fear and the care of a dying mech.

Was he _satisfied_?

Staring up at the ceiling of his dark room, his brother deep in recharge an arm’s reach away, the anxious grip of insomnia a resiliently pull to consciousness, he told himself he was.

The dichotomy of beauty and the hideous was an interesting topic to consider. Usually, Sunstreaker preferred to explore it in the form of visual arts, but there was a variety of medium to choose from.

Take the act of living. His own experience with it was filled with extremes of both highs. There were deaths aplenty, but just as many friends made. There were cycles spent in hunger and cycles in which they gorged themselves in sweets. For every night the stars shone in pity, there was a dawn waiting to greet them.

Another fine example was love. With every desire to punch his brother came a need to hold him close. With every argument with his creators came appreciation for their sacrifices.

And then, there was Bluestreak. There was beauty in their first meetings, in the time before life was complex. Sorrow had consumed him in the cycles after Bluestreak left Kima, but an equivalence of elation was all he felt once their own encrypted comm channel was set up. And every chance Sunstreaker had to see his friend, he seized it. Those utterly gorgeous moments of innocence were worth everything.

Scrap that. There was no such dichotomy in Bluestreak. His closest friend, his first and (hopefully) only lover was perfect even in the ways he was flawed. It was the fault of the rest of the universe for placing someone so full of light in dark settings.

It was a source of great comfort to have someone he was so close to in his youth, and Sunstreaker knew Bluestreak’s “moments with his sunshine” were as much a relief to him as well.

Creators were well and good, and having a brother was beneficial for the most part. None of them truly understood, though.

His sire and carrier were conjoined in a manner he only wanted to partially imitate. They communicated beautifully, but one was unable to exist fully without the other. They drained themselves to supply those they loved. Sunstreaker was careful to never allow himself or Bluestreak to likewise sacrifice themselves in the name of being selfless.

His brother was wild. He existed in an odd plane of chaos and insanity that, even through sharing a twin sparkbond, Sunstreaker could never empathize with. Sideswipe would chase after something, in a mad, stellar race to achievement, only to burst at the seams before he could claim victory. His twin was loud, talkative, and exuberant, but he was nothing like his Bluestreak. There was no joy to be found in his words or deeds, only exhaustion.

This was not to say his family was lacking in beauty.

His carrier was a prime example of the extremes. The way he held himself against his body’s borders was the pinnacle of beauty shining through and from a dark, hideous place. The conversation he had with his carrier so long ago still haunted his thoughts. The way he explained how he would play pretend with those who wished to hurt him had stung Sunstreaker then, and he replayed it over and over in his mind sometimes. Usually when cries for Crimson Dawn sounded in the rec room or strangers made to hold what wasn’t theirs to claim. Despite—or, more likely, in spite—of the harsh realities he faced, his carrier was brilliant.

His sire was a different matter. He wasn’t conventionally pretty or uniquely exotic. The large ex-miner was actually quite plain. But what he lacked in visuals, he more than made up in spark. Sunstreaker found it incredibly hard to deny his sire a smile when one was offered to him by that dorky face. His sire was too often mistaken for innocent, and for that, he resembled Bluestreak. The two were, in fact, the complete opposite, having witnessed horrors beyond what could be described. Their joy stemmed from a place of love for those around them. His sire never wanted anyone to ever feel as low as he could, and thus, he took it upon himself to brighten everyone’s day.

Perhaps if things were different, these observations would mean something. The murals Sunstreaker painted across Kima’s base would still be pristine, not marred by energon and fire. The people he and Sideswipe had grown to know would still be alive. If there was no war to be fought, then maybe the beautiful wouldn’t have to fight to be seen.

But that was not reality, and there were events in his life resulting from the course of the war Sunstreaker couldn’t bear to part with.

There was that dichotomy, again. If they had lived a life of plentiful opportunity, then Sunstreaker would have never experienced Bluestreak’s radiance. In the reality they were trapped in, there was only enlistment and tragedy to come, but at least he would have people he could rely on.

Sunstreaker had little trouble recharging. He had visions of a wonderful life to cling to in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bit of insight to my writing technique:  
> All of this is only a small fraction of a much larger story arch spanning from the events leading up to the war to some time after it's ended. So, in multi-chapter fics like this one, I'm focused only on one plot point and/or character. Hence why Sides and Sunny got a little condensed here. They, too, shall have their time, just not right now. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! We're coming in to the last major arch of this story, so buckle up.  
> (Also, is anyone watching War for Cybertron? I hear it'll be good.)


	8. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the twins older and another sparkling on the way, things take a turn for the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the rating and tags. I know I mentioned before warnings for graphic details, but it's worth repeating. I won't spoil what's about to happen, but this chapter and the next one are the main reasons I rated this the way I did.  
> Also, this chapter is long, and I make no apologies.

His vents fought hard to regulate his core, but another round of purging interrupted them. He heaved, bent over the waste bin and bracing himself on the wall. Only once his tank was completely empty did his systems begin to cool.

Knock Out sat back on his heels with a groan. This needed to end sooner rather than later, he couldn’t take being this ill much longer.

With the twins, he had been extremely uncomfortable, and his mobility had seen better days, but he wasn’t sick save the very being of their term. With this one, though? This sparkling’s goal was evidently to make his life miserable.

He rubbed a hand across his abdomen and the slight distension there, feeling as the sparkling wiggled and kicked against his servo.

“You’re lucky I find you worth all this,” he said with a soft laugh. The sparkling relayed his contentment over the bond and kicked at something internal. Nausea threatened to overtake him again, so Knock Out stood to get the sparkling off his tank. He barely made it to his desk drawer, where he kept his cleaning cloths, before a knock on the office door signaled an entry.

First Aid peered in hesitantly, waving at him as he asked, “Are you well?”

“My usual,” Knock Out assured, wiping his face and front. “I’ll be back out in a moment.”

“Great, I need you to look someone over.”

He gave Aid a once over, noting how tense his shoulders were and the slight incline of his helm. This wasn’t a casual matter, though that wasn’t very surprising. The war had moved to the valley outside Kima, and soldiers were constantly returning dismembered or gutted. They had seen more bizarre injuries these past few decacycles than in their combined vorns as medics.

Knock Out quickly finished wiping himself down then walked to the door, Aid moving out the way and heading down the hall perfectly in sync with his friend.

“Femme, infantry class, brought in three joors ago,” Aid began, completely shifting into doctor-mode. “She had a known puncture wound to the lower back, clogged by some kind of debris deemed noninfectious and nonurgent. Her care was given to an older trainee until her procedure could be done, but she began convulsing and screaming less than a joor ago.”

“You moved her to ICU?” Knock Out asked, venting harshly as he tried to keep pace with his taller friend.

“Thirty breems ago, yes. I ran some basic scans, but they didn’t provide much information aside from her spark giving off multiple wavelengths and possibly a mass in her abdomen. It was difficult to see.”

They rounded a corner, weaving through other medics sanctioned under his command as Knock Out considered the information given.

“You think she’s sparked?”

Aid nodded. “Nothing on her file stated that, though. She might be going through an early miscarriage. I knew you said certain scanners could do pre-emergence sparklings and their carriers damage, so I wanted your opinion before I proceeded.”

“Good call,” Knock Out praised. They paused as they entered an unoccupied lift, Aid reaching over to bring them two floors down. “If she _is_ in the early stage, high-power scans can cause the creator spark to absorb the sparklet or, if it’s far enough along, cause premature detachment.” He leaned over to place a hand against a wall, grimacing from motion sickness.

“Ok, good,” Aid signed. “I just wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was, and I don’t know enough about this to help her.”

“No, you did fine, I’m sure,” Knock Out said quickly, strained as he did his best to avoid dry heaving.

The lift finally opened, and Aid offered his arm to Knock Out, which he took graciously.

“I think once we know how much harm a surgery to remove the debris could do, then we should prioritize removing it,” Aid continued, leading them down the corridor.

“Agreed. It’s possible that’s what could be triggering the miscarriage. Or the convulsions if she isn’t carrying.”

They briskly walked through the hall of ICU rooms, passing several other medics who continued about their tasks, aside from one.

“I was under the impression you couldn’t preform surgeries?”

Knock Out ground his denta in pending irritation. “I’m not operating on anyone, Allodyn, just performing a diagnosis.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind I come then? Just in case you need an experienced, _practicing_ surgeon.”

He didn’t appreciate the reminder of his inabilities. The sparkling had been a welcomed surprise, of course, but the incessant sickness he brought with him proved to be more than Knock Out could properly handle. He didn’t mind the light duty, especially after the facility had been divided and he was given a rather large section to command. But Knock Out had never been one to enjoy relying on others to complete jobs he knew he was better suited for.

That didn’t mean Allodyn was wrong, though, and Knock Out swallowed his pride, accepting that there was potentially the need for two available surgeons.

Aid stopped them in front of room I13, opening the door to reveal a femme arching on the med-berth, crying in pain. The poor trainee left to tend to her looked up pleadingly at his superiors.

“Return to the main hub,” Knock Out ordered, walking over to check the femme’s monitors. “See if anyone there needs assistance.”

The mech nodded with conviction and readily fled the room. Aid was at the femme’s side, consoling her that he had returned as Knock Out analyzed her read outs. Sure enough, exactly as Aid described, there were two wavelengths on the spark monitor, an easily identifiable sight after so many recent appointments for his own sparkling.

“This won’t tell us the age, but you were right, Aid.”

“Right about what?” Allodyn asked, his tone serious and professional with a slight twinge of offense.

Knock Out didn’t answer him directly. The femme was returning to herself, and he preferred Allodyn felt out-of-the-loop than her. He approached her, opposite the berth from Aid, and rested a hand on her side to gain her hazy attention.

“My dear, I need to discuss something with you. Are you coherent?” She in-vented, then nodded slowly. “Are you aware you are currently carrying?”

Her confusion became immediately evident as her brow furrowed and she worked her mouth to speak but failed to find the words. “…What?”

Knock Out rubbed her side to ease the tension there. “Your spark scans show another spark existing in your frame along with you. I need you to confirm whether you have spark merged with anyone and how often, if so.”

She looked between Knock Out and Aid then shifted as she tried to find reprieve in her position on her side. “My conjunx,” she said quietly, barely audible to the two mechs near her, her voice rough from yelling. “We merge whenever we can. Have been for vorns.” She grimaced, making small, distressed noises as pain consumed her once again.

Knock Out continued to massage her side, considering what to do next. Greenlight needed to be called, first and foremost. She knew what to do and how to handle the situation better than anyone else he knew. Then there was the matter of her initial injury. They needed better scans of the obstruction and whether it was hitting something vital. A narrow-ranged scanner and careful hands would be needed. What could be done next depended on those results.

Decision made, Knock Out left the patient’s side to obtain the necessary tools. It was only when he made to grab a scanning wand that he noticed the yellow fluids adorning his hand.

His immediate reaction was to check his own abdomen. The sparkling kicked against him, and no gestational fluids were spilling out his widened seams. That was a relief. At a little under the twelve orns mark and without a twin to complicate things, the sparkling needed another orn to go. That kind of upset was _not_ desired right now.

Then it dawned on him just where the fluids must have come from.

Knock Out was back at the femme’s side before Aid could alert him of the energon seeping from her transformation seams. Practiced hands located the chamber easily and pressed around the hard mass to assess its shape and size. He then felt around his own plating, noting the similarities.

Aid quickly realized his train of thought. “This is an emergence, not a miscarriage.”

“The chamber is a little smaller than mine, but that’s doesn’t say too much,” Knock Out said in leu of a direct answer.

The femme calmed down and grabbed on to Knock Out’s forearm, squeezing it. “I’m dying!” she sobbed.

“Let’s stay a bit more optimistic, shall we?” He removed her grip on him to place her hand on the small rise in her chassis. “We have a better idea of what this is and how to help you.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Allodyn interjected, stepping out the way as Aid moved across the room. “Don’t tell me it’s possible for someone to go a whole thirteen orns without realizing something’s in there.”

“I would say it’s _unlikely_ , but certainly not impossible,” Knock Out admitted. He had often wondered just how Breakdown had never noticed Red moving around in him, especially with his only experiences being energetic twins and his current kicker. It had happened, though, with Breakdown and now with this femme.

“This isn’t—it’s not happening,” the femme muttered. Knock Out refocused on her, watching as the gravity of her situation caught up to her. She clutched her leaking abdomen and looked back up at him, her gaze penetrating and afraid. “I didn’t know, I didn’t do anything right!”

“We realize that,” Knock Out said, placing a hand over hers.

“Don’t let me die,” she pleaded in a broken voice, grimacing again. She lost herself in a chorus of pleas as a new wave of pain hit her.

Once it ended, Knock Out nodded to Aid, who signaled he had retrieved what they needed by lifting the scanning wand. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he started, his calm, gentle tone cultivated by vorns as a medic and a creator. “First, we’ll look at the obstruction. Ideally, it does not need to be removed immediately, and we can continue through the emergence before addressing it further. If not, we’ll need to work quickly to remove it and seal the wound. Then, we can—”

“Stop saying ‘we’ as if you’ll be here,” Allodyn interrupted. “You can’t see patients right now, _sir_.”

Knock Out looked over his shoulder at the red-orange atrocity scowling at him. “ _Then_ , we can hand things over to a doctor better suited for this particular situation.”

“Don’t just ignore the fact that you’re not permitted to work on her,” Allodyn chastised.

The femme’s confused and distressed noises were enough for Knock Out to decide a change in tactics was necessary. He moved away from the patient, confident Aid could care for her, and grabbed Allodyn by the arm to pull him away.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, trying to sound intimidating while keeping his voice low.

“Me?” Allodyn had the nerve to look offended. “Who are you to go around acting as if you’re involved?”

“I am your _commander_ , first of all,” Kncock Out said with a huff. “And really, this argument is pointless. I wouldn’t operate on her even if I was entirely well because there is someone far more qualified than myself. All we’re doing right now is distressing an already in-shock patient.”

“Who? Greenlight?” Allodyn scoffed. “Isn’t she in a different division? How long do you think it would take to transfer her?”

He had a point there. Greenlight couldn’t be under his authority as she was his primary physician. Ergo, calls would need to be made to approve her temporary shift over. Still, though.

“At least _trying_ to get her here is better than arrogantly supplying inexperienced care,” Knock Out argued, but reason fell on the stubbornly deaf.

“I may be many things, but I am not _inexperienced_.” Allodyn rolled his shoulders back glancing over at the femme crying in Aid’s arms. “I’m taking her on as my patient.”

“Allodyn, don’t be ridiculous—”

“It’s decided. Her care falls onto me.”

“I won’t approve it,” Knock Out threatened. “Aid has more practice with the process than you. She’d be better suited under his care.”

“But Aid is classified as a surgical _assistant_ , not a true surgeon.”

Knock Out brought his hand to his helm, pressing on the plating to ease the oncoming ache. “You simply aren’t qualified—”

“And you think you are? Your interfacing endeavors don’t provide you any legitimate credibility, either.”

“Allodyn, I refuse to allow this—”

“You have no authority. It was sacrificed to spawn another terror.”

Knock Out grabbed his arm again, this time dragging him out the room entirely. “That is enough,” he commanded in a louder tone as he released his hold and shut the door. “I _do_ have authority over you, like it or not. And I _will not_ let you back in this room.”

“Excuse me?”

Both medics turned, finding the owner of the voice to be a large frontliner in the middle of the corridor, the trainee from earlier standing next to him. Knock Out gave his subordinate a questioning look, but the mech only cringed and shrugged.

“Who are you?” Allodyn asked, visibly scanning the mech for any ulterior motives.

“I’m here about my conjunx,” he replied. “Was told she got put in ICU. But she was fine earlier.”

Wonderful, Knock Out thought. He made his displeasure clear to the young medic, who squirmed uncertainly beneath his gaze then quietly fled the corridor.

“She’s in a lot of pain, as of moment ago,” Knock Out explained, refocusing on the femme’s conjunx. “I take it you had no idea she was carrying, either?”

His mouth opened and close several times before words formed. “No, I didn’t—are you sure?”

“No, actually,” Allodyn stated. “That is just what my colleague has interpreted.”

“I performed as much of an analysis as I could and can confirm with a _great_ deal of certainty that she is currently in emergence,” Knock Out clarified, giving Allodyn a pointed glare. “There are complications to attend to concerning her initial injury, and we are working to resolve them.”

Allodyn made an aggravated noise. “You can’t just breach patient confidentiality just because someone says they have a connection to them.”

The mech raised his hands to pacify the medics, fear and uncertainty circulating his field. “I am her conjunx, though, I swear—”

“I’ll have to check her files, first, to confirm that she even has one,” Allodyn said with finality.

“So, you can’t tell me anything else?” he asked. “Not even what you plan to do?”

Knock Out cycled his vents as Allodyn crossed his arms in a show of silence. “We intend to—”

“There is no ‘we’,” Allodyn argued. “ _You_ are currently suspended and shouldn’t even be here.”

“I am _not_ ,” Knock Out corrected, his irritation fast coming, manifesting into jagged gestures. “I am on _light duty_ due to, just so we are all clear, my own carriage. If one of us knows a thing or two about what his conjunx is going through and knows who to get in contact with, it is _me_.”

Allodyn shoved a digit to his chest plates, his taller stature allowing him to tower over Knock Out. “Your arrogance is going to be your downfall.”

He shoved the offending hand off him before it smudged his finish and made to retort, but Allodyn was stalking back into the room with the last word. There was an awkward beat of silence before the door opened again, and Aid walked out into the corridor, glancing between Knock Out and the frontliner.

“So…Allodyn is taking over?” he asked. Aid was facing him, but Knock Out could tell he was glancing over at the other mech.

He cycled his vents, not quite sure what to say that wouldn’t panic the femme’s conjunx. “Seems he is. I _could_ motion for his removal, though.”

“On what grounds?” Aid pointed out. “He doesn’t have any less exposure than any other surgeon stationed here. But we do need Greenlight.”

“Agreed.”

“Who?” the mech asked, stepping forward hesitantly.

“My personal physician,” Knock Out clarified. “She monitored the twins I carried and is overseeing this one.” He gestured to his abdomen absently. “She’s the best in her field. I’ll call her in, to provide your conjunx with her expert care.”

“If you say so,” he said, his eyes void of any real emotion in his state of shock. “This is real? We have a sparkling?”

Knock Out and Aid exchanged subtle glances, both coming to the same thought. Not yet, no, but hopefully.

“You remember the twins’ emergence?” he asked Aid, who nodded unsurely. “Watch for blue line-energon in the gestation fluids. And monitor their spark readouts. We want the sparkling in stasis, but not too low in his energy outputs, and the carrier at something steady even if it’s high.” He motioned with his hands along his own plating. “It should be lubricated enough here so the armor doesn’t grind. The split needs to have enough space for the body to pass through. Don’t be afraid to cut it if need be.”

Aid nodded, mentally taking notes. “And head first, face up is the best, right?”

“Yes. Turn it if you need to, surgically remove if you see anything but a helm.”

“She’ll— _they’ll_ be alright, though?” the mech asked, shuffling and grasping his hands like a nervous tick.

“Well, the entire term ghosted us, so we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with,” Knock Out admitted, deciding transparency was the best way to calm him.

“But I will get the proper equipment over here to monitor her,” Aid added.

“Comm a trainee,” Knock Out instructed. “You stay with her.” The unspoken ‘I trust you more’ was well understood.

Aid reached out to the stressed conjunx, encouraging him to take a seat on one of the benches in the hallway. “For right now, you can stay here, so we can give you quick updates or confirm your approval if a procedure is needed. We may ask you to return to the waiting room later, though.”

“Okay,” he responded, robotically doing as he was told. He glanced between the two medics, his uncertainty and underlying distrust an expression Knock Out had come to accept as the norm. There wasn’t another option, though, and the mech must have realized that.

Knock Out felt odd leaving the scene as it was, but there were others he could tend to who may need his insight. Aid locked his gaze with him for a brief moment that set them both at ease, then he returned to the room. Knock Out decided that was his cue to walk away.

Back in the lift, motion sickness mixed with dread in an unholy concoction in his core. Several jabs to his tank from the sparkling within him was the final blow. As the lift doors opened, Knock Out lunged for the waste bin just outside, placed there and on every floor after one too many episodes on the lift. He purged, expelling any remnants of his last fueling that his previous wave missed.

“Tell me that again, but with more _conviction_.”

“Knock Out, the sarcasm isn’t appreciated.”

“Neither is your lack of cooperation.”

Greenlight frowned, and Knock Out could practically feel the irritation radiating from her through the static video feed. “I told you, you need to take this to the higher ups.”

“And I _will_ ,” he insisted. “But can’t you just make your way over anyway? And if they don’t approve your move for some reason, then we ask for forgiveness later.”

“I have patients here, too. I can’t just abandon them.”

“Yes, but I’m sure none of their cases are as specific as this one.”

“Knock Out—!”

“Greenlight,” he sang back.

“I’m serious. Go through the proper channels.”

With that, she ended the call, leaving nothing but a blank monitor reflecting Knock Out’s own visage. He vented, shifting to roll his hips and relieve the pressure there, and hid his face in his hands.

He tried to do as Greenlight suggested after a moment of reflection. He sent flagged comms to Pharma, and when those failed to gain any attention, he sent more to the CMO, Ratchet. After almost half a joor of being entirely ignored, he was becoming overwhelmed.

A walk cleared his racing thoughts, at least to some extent. There wasn’t much more he could do for one patient but wait, so seeing others in various stages of healing was therapeutic. He checked in on those just out of surgery and those with minor mesh wounds. He paused to speak with the medics in his ward, assuring them in their decisions and providing what insight he could.

It helped, though Knock Out longed for Breakdown’s embrace or a moment of normalcy with his sons. But neither would come until his conjunx returned from the battle field or his next break between shifts.

Part of him thought of simply running out the medbay doors and stealing away with the twins, concocting some scheme to get to their sire and flee. Where would they go? He hadn’t the slightest idea. But it would be doing _something_ to relieve him of the stress he was under.

Knock Out stopped in his tracks, the thought lingering in his mind. He could leave. If no one wanted to respond to his comms, then he could at the very least pester someone until aid was sent. What did it really matter if that wouldn’t accomplish anything? He would be doing _something_ to help his patient rather than idly wandering.

“Sir?”

The voice pulled him back to the present. He glanced over to see Scalpel staring at him worriedly, a wastebin in her hand.

“Fine,” he assured and collected himself. “How are things?”

“Running smoothly.” She frowned at him, not buying the esteem Knock Out was selling. “Do you need anything?”

He considered the idea that had formed and how foolish it might sound. Then again, a good doctor would do all in his power to help those under their care. Was that not his and Pharma’s motto?

“There’s a patient in ICU,” he explained, “who would be better off in the hands of someone else. I’ve been wrestling with my superiors to bring said doctor here, but no one is answering me.”

Scalpel nodded, understanding crossing her face. “Do you need someone to personally send a message?”

“No.” He waved the suggestion away. “Why tear a practicing physician from their work when I can go unmissed.” Knock Out grinned at her, all her accomplishments springing to mind. She was no First Aid, but Scalpel could handle a now calm medbay for as long as he needed.

He grabbed the offered wastebin, shoving it in his subspace. “Take care of things here for me, Scalpel, I’ll be back shortly.” Knock Out flicked the air with a suave servo as he waltzed away toward the main entrance. “I have a few words to exchange with my boss.”

Out of the three divisions now sanctioned in Kima, Pharma co-lead with the CMO the two main hubs, both located on the outskirts of the base itself. It was the first to filter in new soldiers, operating on those immediately in danger and sending the lower priority to the medbay proper.

Knock Out was never more grateful for the slower pace he had been dealt than when he entered the massive, make-shift facilities. It took him nearly forty breems to get through to the officers’ quarters and offices. He passed heaps of melted metal classified as people, bodies torn in pieces, and energon stains that permanently marred the planet’s surface.

As he waited outside Pharma’s office, he stared out the windows at the valley below. Breakdown was no where to be seen, as per his luck, but there were other curiosities to observe. The landscape was drastically different from when he had last stepped foot in it. The cave burying his Decepticon allies was invisible now, hidden behind landslides. The valley’s walls were littered with the stains of people’s internals, rusting the surface. As far as he could see, there was nothing but a sea of rust and war.

“Can I help you?”

Knock Out turned on his heels to face who had addressed him, heedless of the gruff exhaustion in the mech’s tone. Any intentions of charming his way to his mentor dropped as he registered just who the mech was.

Ratchet, _the_ Autobot Chief Medical Officer, stood steadily, his fists balled and firmly planted on his hips. He wasn’t tall by any means, a mere head or two above him, but the strength he shone was enough to drag even Megatron lower.

“Well?” he asked, his frustration with Knock Out’s presence loud and clear. “Did you come here for a reason or just to stand there and gawk?”

He summoned all his resolve, trying to hide his flinch as the sparkling aimed a kick at an organ. “I came to speak to Pharma. He hasn’t returned my comms.”

“He’s in surgery right now, what do you need?”

Well, there was one answer, and it made him considerably less angry. Confidence bolstered, Knock Out continued. “I have a patient in my ward who requires a specialist’s care. Specifically, Greenlight’s.”

Ratchet scoffed. “Tough luck. Make it work.” He then turned and walked off.

Knock Out stood with his mouth hung open for a klick before he regained his senses and jogged to catch up with the senior medic.

“Sir, you don’t understand,” he argued, vents kicking on to make speech difficult. “The patient is at risk. None of the medics under me are qualified — please slow down, will you? — and the two with her certainly aren’t.” Knock Out took a deep in-vent, the heat of the place and the pace churning his insides. “I just need to have the proper people.”

“We’re dealing with our own crisis, deal with your minor one,” Ratchet responded, not giving an indication his mind was open.

“I can _see_ that,” he offered, “but you can’t possible need Greenlight more than this femme. Or any more than I need you to stop walking.”

“If you’re so concerned about her care, why are you here and not tending to her?” Ratchet accused, scowling over his shoulder.

Knock Out felt his insides turn, not helped by the sparkling rolling around. “If I could—” Unprocessed energon shot up his throat, a gagging noise erupting from him. For a moment, he thought it might pass, but the sparkling stretching, pressing up against his tank crushed his last hope of maintaining his dignity. He just barely pulled out the wastebin from subspace before he purged all over the ground.

As he crouched, bent over the bin and regurgitating the cube he had drank on his way here, Ratchet walked back over to him, patting his back to help rid his tanks of their meager contents. Once he was done, the older medic hummed in understanding.

“You’re that surgeon Pharma talks about? Forgot that he mentioned you were sick,” he said with no real sympathy. “Knock Down, right? The one with the frontliner twins?”

“Knock Out,” he muttered, anger swelling in his spark. “And my sons haven’t enlisted yet.”

“You shouldn’t be seeing patients like this, kid.”

“I’m _not_ ,” he clarified, rising to stand on wobbly legs. “Hence why _I’m_ here and not some else.” A deep cycling of his vents cooled his taxed frame a fraction. “I am here to prevent a problem before it happens. I just need the right person to do that.”

Ratchet shook his helm like he was through with the argument. “Is the patient in immediate or soon to be immediate danger?”

“I wouldn’t know because the medic overseeing her is keeping quiet. She might be, though.”

“Look,” Ratchet clapped him on the shoulder, scuffing the paint there. “I can’t go removing surgeons from a warzone all on a ‘might’.”

Knock Out ground his denta. “Sir, just because she isn’t dying right now doesn’t mean she won’t be by the time I get back!”

“Comm if the situation actually becomes something more than you can handle,” Ratchet dismissed, shaking the trapped shoulder before walking off.

Knock Out didn’t even bother to try and follow, his tank still whirling from his last venture into speed. That was all the advice he would receive here, and he knew it. But at least he could return to his medbay with the confidence to say he had tried.

Time passed in a blur, events and people coming and going in quick succession. Some things were hazy, but most were disturbingly graphic. His mind held on to every incision, every soldier’s face, every greying body. Ratchet had hopes he could live through this next stage of the war without remembering much, but that wasn’t his kind of luck. He would recall this nightmare for vorns to come in vivid detail.

After orns of this, he and Pharma had cultivated a routine. When one was in surgery, the other was available for new patients. They hardly spoke, relying primarily on their knowledge of the other and the trust that they would each do their part. This closeness was the sole reason they both oversaw the front lines. It was a bit of consistency in an otherwise chaotic ordeal.

There were also reminders of the brighter parts of life. Wheeljack pulsed little nothings and his support over their bond, sometimes sharing his ideas for new inventions. Ratchet would close his eyes in brief moments of peace to sync with his conjunx, letting the fears and the stress flood between them and disperse. It wasn’t nearly enough, but the moments became his motivation to stay sane.

But breaks were becoming his worst enemy, despite how necessary they were. They allowed him time to think, and his thoughts tended to wonder to darker territories. He couldn’t get the nightmares to leave him be aside from when he was working. He also knew continuing to push his limits would only result in decisions he would later regret.

Overall, though? He was becoming numb. The casualties were piling up, and Ratchet couldn’t find it in him to morn.

As he sat in his makeshift office, staring down the flimsy metal walls enveloping him, that was what haunted him the most. What would come of him if he suddenly stopped caring that someone had died? It made sense in a terrible way that one death among thousands was minuscule to him, but those people were likely something to someone else. What right did he have to an authority over life? The answer ought to have been none, but that simply wasn’t the case.

A knock to his door freed him from his tangent. Ratchet huffed, stretching as he stood to let in whoever needed him. Outside stood one of the nurses, a thin mech with a cool persona Ratchet admired. He stood straighter as Ratchet nodded to him, signaling for him to speak.

“There’s a situation that someone feels requires your attention.”

Ratchet hummed that he was listening, arching his chin for the mech to continue.

“One of the Protectobots is trying to give us a message from one of his brothers. He’s insistent that he speaks to you immediately.”

Odd, Ratchet thought, and guessed quickly which brothers were likely involved. Hot Spot was in the latest stage of recovery and might be coherent enough to speak, the others here all in stasis. There was possibly something wrong with one of the stasis mechs that their leader was able to relay. Whether that was something urgent, though? There was only one way to know.

“Take me to him,” Ratchet said, shooing for the nurse to get moving.

They made their way to the recovery bay at a brisk walk that had become his default speed. As he passed other patients, Ratchet took quick assessments of their progress, making mental notes of who he needed to follow up with.

The nurse led him to a corner comprised entirely of the gestalt brothers, each laid out on a med-berth. Hot Spot had the most color to him, and was looking around like he was registering his surroundings just fine, if a little dazed. His brothers were not as promising cases. Groove was missing a leg, Blades missing his, well, blades, and Streetwise was marred with welds from his helm to his peds.

When Hot Spot finally saw Ratchet, his visor brightened. He shifted to reach towards him, Ratchet rushing over to hold the youngling’s offered hand. A sound left his vocalizer, but nothing was articulate.

“Clear it and try again, kid,” he encouraged, squeezing his hand.

Hot Spot shook his helm, barreling through his words with a voice rough from disuse. “Aid,” he bit out, shifting against Ratchet’s wishes to lean over and hold the medic’s shoulder. “Aid…something…”

“Keep at it,” he said. There was no trying to hide his surprise. First Aid was back at the main base, safe as far as Ratchet was aware. There had been no alerts of infiltration, but he brought up Optimus’s comm frequency in case the combiner team knew something they didn’t.

After properly resetting his voice box, Hot Spot spoke more clearly, if a little rushed. “Aid needs to file a thing for—for malpractice. He’s charging someone with patient-harm.”

Ratchet squinted, trying to discern where a prank might be laid. These mechs weren’t known for such immaturities, but surely First Aid wouldn’t relay serve allegations so informally through his brother.

“Why hasn’t he flagged a comm as urgent?”

“Can’t,” Hot Spot muttered. His visor began to dim, so Ratchet tapped his facemask to wake him. “I don’t know…can’t…green…” he said, fading slowly back into recharge, the exchange exhausting his taxed frame.

Ratchet didn’t bother to reawake him, knowing full well the poor thing needed to rest. The message was strange, though. He couldn’t imagine a situation where First Aid would be unable to communicate any other way. This appeared urgent, at least to the youngling, but Ratchet couldn’t just leave with such informal charges from an unreliable source.

Then it hit him. A failure in communication…a patient potentially in harm’s way… _Green_ light…

“Frag it,” he hissed, leaping to his peds and heading to consult Pharma.

The entire conversation with the small, crimson-eyed medic replayed over and over in his mind like a twisted mantra, mocking him for missing the obvious. How long had it been? Two, maybe three, joors since Knock Out had come barging in, demanding help Ratchet had refused to offer.

Over the bond, Wheeljack sensed his distress and sent his curiosity. Ratchet replied with something terse then clamped down on his end, needing to focus.

He practically ran over his friend as they crossed paths, and he grabbed Pharma’s arm just below his wing to keep him from moving on.

“Have you heard anything from the other division?” he asked, quick and with the authority to command Pharma’s immediate attention.

“Not since the few calls from Knock Out earlier,” he answered, raising a questioning brow high enough that it disappeared behind his chevron. “Why? Is something the matter?”

“One of the Protectobots told me that First Aid is charging another doctor for patient harm,” Ratchet explained. “I told you Knock Out came by?”

Pharma’s optics widened. “Yes, but—”

“If he had told you he feared a patient’s life was in unqualified hands, would you have believed him?”

Shock morphed into vague horror as Pharma made the connection. “There’s a lull, here. We need to go.”

The tone left nothing to be argued over. They each sent messages to their designated seconds to take over as well as to Greenlight to rearrange her surgeries. Within a few breems, the three were outside the facility, racing towards the base.

“Stop touching me.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re ped is hitting mine.”

Sideswipe scoffed like he was offended. “It won’t kill you.”

“It’s scratching my paint,” Sunstreaker threatened in a dry tone, looking off to some place in the rec room behind his brother as he sipped his energon. “I might rip it off.”

“Try me!” Sides challenged. He leaned over in his seat, reaching under the booth’s table to prod his brother. “Eat it, Sunny!”

Knock Out cycled his vents, feeling oddly content. With how stress-filled the cycles had become, any source of reprieve was welcomed. For him, it was often in the form of these breaks spent with his sons. Their constant bickering was more than most could handle, but there was something comforting in their ability to find absolutely pointless things to argue over.

As their creator, though, he supposed he ought to step in.

“Sides, love,” Knock Out said smoothly, cocking his head to the side as he grinned. “Don’t provoke your brother.”

The red twin only mirrored his grin, mischief a charming gleam in his eyes. “I won’t!”

Sunstreaker scowled. “Then remove your ped from me, or I will remove it from you.”

“Empty promises,” Sides jeered, though he did sit back up, bringing his wayward ped with him.

Sunstreaker slouched in his seat beside his carrier. His intense staring wasn’t overlooked, but Knock Out knew what was going through his mind and elected to take a casual sip from his own cube, forcing nonchalance. It was when a hard kick to his fuel tank curtesy of his youngest caused him to flinch that Sunstreaker finally spoke up.

“My favorite brother at it again?”

“Favorite?” Sides gasped, his red eyes blowing wide as if this was the first he had heard of his demotion. But Sunny didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, instead keeping his focus on their creator.

“Fine,” Knock Out waved off. “Just wish he’d understand just _who_ he’s hitting.”

“Do you think it’s fun?” Sides asked with genuine curiosity laced into the mocking tone. “Like, squirming around for no reason like that? I mean, not like he’s got much else to do, but still.”

Knock Out side-eyed his golden son and was not disappointed by the reaction. Sunstreaker had finally faced his brother and was looking at Sides as if he couldn’t believe they shared similar coding let alone the same spark. It got a good chuckle out of him.

“Maybe,” Knock Out sang, reaching up to the closest of Sunny’s helm fins. “Or perhaps he just hates me,” he joked. He ran the fin between his digits, fiddling with it absently.

Sides waved dramatically as he huffed. “No way! You’re way too cool to hate.”

Said out of a place of humor or not, the compliment had Knock Out’s spark spinning a little faster. Even more so when Sides conveyed his blatant honesty over their bond.

“So! What have you two been up to today?” he asked, needing to change the subject before his overemotional frame destroyed his reputation.

Sunstreaker shifted, careful not to tear away the hand toying with his helm fin. “Mainly hung out with Bluestreak again.”

“Mainly?” Sides laughed, pausing to gulp down some energon. “More like that’s all we’ve done.” His coy aesthetic was ruined by the traces of energon streaked across his smiling lips.

Knock Out didn’t try to control the brow that quirked. “Not making poor Sides a third wheel, are you?”

“No.” Sunstreaker took a long draw at his cube, effectively avoiding saying any more.

“They’re fine,” Sides assured, wiping at his mouth with the back of a servo. “It’s not like they just sit around and make-out or anything. It’s mostly just Blue chatting away, me getting a word in or two, and Sunny just sits there.”

“Sunstreaker.”

“But get this!” Sides added, ignoring the correction. “Blue told me today that he doesn’t want to do _anything_.”

“Anything as in…?” Knock Out pushed, intrigue tightening his grip on his son’s fin.

“Like interfacing, overloading, stuff like that.” Sides pointed to his brother, his every movement filled with mirth. “Sunny’s going to be a virgin the rest of his life!!”

The taunted twin cycled his vents, refusing to succumb to his agitation. “ _No_ , we just won’t do anything very physical until we’re conjunx. It’s a religion thing for him.”

That wasn’t all that surprising. It was easy to identify mechs with facial coverings, and from knowing First Aid as long as he had, Knock Out was aware they abided by stricter standards. And as far as he was aware, Blue’s sire was still a mech of the faith so was likely to hold his son to certain expectations.

“I, for one, think that is an excellent goal to have.” He tugged Sunny’s helm down so he could kiss the fin he had fiddled with. “Blue is good for you, love.”

Sides chuckled, shaking his helm at his brother’s self-afflicted situation.

“What?” Sunstreaker challenged. “You’re a virgin, too.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t courted someone for, like, ten vorns.”

“I should hope neither of you have fragged anyone yet,” Knock Out interjected. “You’re only twenty-two. Unless, of course, your aim is to become consorts.”

Sides’s laughter resonated about the rec room, turning heads and eliciting curious eyes. “With these old afts? Not a chance!”

A loud, persistent beeping sounded off from Knock Out’s wrist port, and he silenced it with a tired noise.

“Need to leave?” Sunstreaker asked, a hand already moving to his carrier’s back for support.

“Of course,” Knock Out replied. “Much as I would rather stay here with the both of you.”

“We’ll walk you to the medbay,” Sides offered unnecessarily. It was an unspoken rule among the family since Knock Out had sparked that none of them were to leave him alone. The fact that the twins still voiced their intentions, though, gave Knock Out the distinct impression that they actually wanted to be with him.

Irrational tears collected behind his eyes, but the familiar feeling of on-coming nausea forced him to collect his dignity.

Knock Out took Sideswipe’s extended servo lent to guide his unsteady weight into a stand. Neither twin made any remarks, instead motioned to walk on either side of him like guards to someone of royalty. The comparison raised his ego considerably.

“Any plans for the rest of the cycle?” he asked, broadening his chest as he walked in a display of confidence.

Sides shrugged. “Meeting up with Blue again, then Ironhide put us on monitor duty for last shift.”

“He put _you_ on duty,” Sunstreaker corrected.

“No, no.” Sides waved a digit in the air. “You were in on it, too, so we both get punished.”

“I had _nothing_ to do with painting Brawn!”

Knock Out thought back to the incident with the angry neon-yellow minibot storming the medbay in search of him. “That was nearly an orn ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah!” Sides exclaimed, dismissing the whole affair with a dramatic swipe at the air. “I think ‘Hide just wants to torture us.”

Or better yet, Knock Out thought, he wanted to keep Sideswipe occupied for a time. That little stab at logic didn’t merit his son’s attention.

“I’m not wasting my time in the monitor room just because you want me to,” Sunstreaker said, offering no room for debate.

“What are you going to do without me?” Sides challenged. “Have _alone time_ with Blue? Maybe even…kiss his hand.” He held out a servo, wiggling his digits to mock a now annoyed Sunstreaker.

“I’m meeting him in the firing range, actually.” He looked over his carrier to glare knowingly at his twin. “Bluestreak is an excellent shot.”

Sides sneered in jest. “Frag you.”

“He will eventually.”

“Alright, you two,” Knock Out interrupted, the main doors to the medbay finally in sight. He turned around and grabbed each twin’s chin to pull them down to him. “Behave. No harmful pranks. Sides, get to monitor duty on time, and Sunny, don’t shoot anyone.” The young mechs protested the coddling but made no attempts to pull away as Knock Out kissed their foreheads.

“We’ll see you after while,” Sides reminded, his smile genuine.

“We could take our late rations in our quarters if you want?” Sunny offered, aware of how tired Knock Out could be at the end of a cycle.

“Sure,” Knock Out agreed, pinching a fin to show his appreciation. “Maybe even steel a game from the rec room.”

Sides hissed in anticipation, punching the air. “We’ll be sneaky,” he promised with no small amount of joy over the prospect of blatant theft. His excitement flooded over to Knock Out, causing a light laugh to escape him.

“See you both later,” he said, shoving the two away before he decided to simply not return to work. A very large part of him dreaded entering that chaos, preferring to stay in the innocent world his sons lived in.

But that was not an option, so instead, Knock Out stalked over to the sliding doors welcoming him to the doom and gloom that was war life.

“Back from break, sir?” the receptionist greeted, not looking up from the terminal at his desk.

Knock Out vented, walking up to lean against the counter. “Any new visitors or patients?” Without a word, the mech handed him the roster.

He hadn’t even onlined the data pad when the doors opened again, and someone grabbed him from behind. A yelp escaped him, but before he could question anything, Pharma turned him around and injected himself in Knock Out’s personal space.

“Where’s First Aid? Who is he working with?”

Knock Out worked his mouth, fighting off faint nausea from being suddenly jerked. “In ICU, still, with Allodyn.”

From over Pharma’s shoulder, Knock Out watched with interest as Ratchet and Greenlight ran through the doors and came to a screeching halt in the foyer.

“Well?” Ratchet asked, sounding as if he had been out racing.

Pharma shook Knock Out to refocus. “Which room?”

He decided now wasn’t the time for questions. “Room I13.”

Ratchet followed after Greenlight as she took off down a hall, barreling through people and objects in their rush. Pharma paused mid-jog to look back at Knock Out, who wasted a klick wondering just what was going on before briskly joining his mentor. They barely caught up with the other two at a lift, squeezing in just before the door closed.

Once inside, Knock Out turned on them. “What the frag happened?” he shouted.

Ratchet muttered something that sounded crass, but Pharma was at least mature enough to fill him in. “Aid gave us a message through Hot Spot that someone was out of order.” He peered down at his subordinate, grinning humorlessly. “Take it you know nothing?”

“No,” he replied, still confused and now beginning to feel ill. He leaned against the lift’s walls, holding his abdomen. Greenlight moved closer to rub his back soothingly. “I haven’t been given any updates on their case.”

“And you didn’t do anything…why?” Ratchet asked like he was making an accusation.

“I _did_!” Knock Out fought. “And Allodyn wouldn’t let me anywhere near the patient, it was becoming an added stressor!”

“So, you removed yourself and tried to get us,” Pharma clarified, clapping him on the shoulder softly.

“What was done is done. We’re here now,” Greenlight interjected.

Ratchet didn’t get a chance to retort as the lift doors opened to the ICU corridor. The four rushed down the hall, Knock Out dragging behind. He finally reached them, his vents puffing hard, as Pharma entered his code to unlock room I13’s door.

There was nothing in his life that could have prepared him for what they saw.

The room was no longer the same layout. The med-berth had been moved to the center like an operating theatre, patient lying atop it, split open, to complete the scene. Allodyn leaned over her, his hands grasping and pulling at internals in her exposed chassis, oblivious to the interruption. Both were covered in energon, varying between cracking dry and seeping wet, and yellow fluids mixed in with the blue dripped into puddles on the floor.

Not two steps to the left knelt Aid, equally stained with someone else’s fluids. He rocked, alternating between leaning his face into something he held on the ground and lifting to in-vent, pressing on the thing in his hands. When Ratchet made a stunned noise, Aid jerked around. His facemask had been removed, so it was easy to see his mouth and chin smeared with yellow and blue.

“Primus,” he rejoiced, his voice breaking. Aid rocked forward, leaning his weight on his hands to stare at the ground and mutter a prayer.

It was then Knock Out noticed the small body.

Bile rose up his throat. He heaved, holding himself on the doorframe as he purged in the hallway. It alerted some of the other doctors nearby, and Knock Out had a difficult time waving them away between spasms.

Once decent, Knock Out collected himself, reentering the room. The sight was no less gruesome, but he was determined to get to Aid.

“Allodyn,” Pharma said, tone as slow and low as his approach. He glanced at the monitors and the flat lines they displayed, ignoring Greenlight as she swore. Carefully, Pharma placed a steady hand on the greyed femme’s arm. “Allodyn, you are done.”

“Not yet,” he muttered, eyes never breaking focus from the opened frame. “I can save her, just watch.”

“You need to stop,” Pharma said with more force. “Just stop.”

“I can handle this,” Allodyn insisted. “It’s simple. I’ve seen it done.”

“Vorns ago. I’m sure it looked simple in memory.”

“Kid,” Ratchet tried, “back away from the body.”

Knock Out’s attention was brought back to the rocking form below him when Aid made a choking noise. He fell to his knees beside his friend, grabbing his sides to help him sit up. First Aid didn’t resist, going limp in the gentle hold that brought him against Knock Out’s chest.

“I know,” he assured, rubbing circles on Aid’s helm like he had his done with his sons when they were afraid. “This is a terrible situation to be in.”

Aid choked again, pressing his face closer to the carrier’s secure embrace. “I don’t know what else to do,” he said with a layer of desperation.

Against his every instinct, Knock Out looked down, needing to know if there was some sign his friend had missed or an error he could correct. But the only conclusions he made, staring at the grey sparkling laying on the floor, was that the little thing had been mutilated.

Knock Out glared at the likely culprit. Allodyn still fought the two senior medics, insisting over and over again he could heal the already deceased, as Greenlight fussed over the femme’s body.

Pharma turned around to quickly address him. “Get Aid out of here. Find out what happened.”

A quick nod, and his mentor went back to tearing a protesting Allodyn from the femme. Knock Out hugged Aid tighter before pushing at him to stand. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

“I have to do something,” Aid muttered, nearly falling back over on his shaky legs. Knock Out righted him, then searched the ground for his facemask. He found it thrown onto a cabinet and grabbed it along with a cleaning cloth. Aid mindlessly accepted the cloth to his face, holding it up to cover his mouth as Knock Out instructed.

“You did enough,” Knock Out said, leading them out the room.

“Not enough,” he muttered. He stared at his free hand, completely oblivious to the change in scenery as they entered the hallway. People were idling nearby, but Knock Out kept their questions at bay with a solid glare.

Aid continued his mutterings all the way to the washracks on the ICU floor. The three occupants took one look at the clearly-in-shock medic covered in fluids being led in by their commander and wisely decided they needed to clear out. Knock Out chose the stall furthest from the entrance, just in case someone else unknowingly came in.

He started with Aid’s front, turning on the solvent cascade and scrubbing his friend down as he waited for Aid to regain some semblance of sanity. After a few breems, the combiner mech finally went silent. He stared at his older friend’s methodical movements clearing away the blue stains to reveal his natural reds and whites.

“Do you want to talk it through, or be distracted?” Knock Out asked. He didn’t care that Pharma had wanted him to get Aid’s side of the event. If he could not bring himself to speak, then Knock Out would not force him.

“You need to know,” Aid said, his tone soft, just barely over a whisper. “I have to testify later. I need you to hear this first.” He looked at Knock Out intently, so he paused his washing to listen. “I know you won’t twist my words.”

“I’m here, Aid,” Knock Out assured him. His hands reached up to grip Aid’s shoulder, massaging the tense plating.

Aid cycled his vents, then began. “It was fine for a while, but then I caught on that the sparkling was emerging backwards and her back wound was opening, so we needed to operate quickly. I wanted to notify you, or anyone. But Allodyn said there wasn’t time. He jammed the comms.” Aid tilted his helm down, his usual stance for prayer, then looked back up. “She was awake, and crying, and we cut too deep into her and hit the sparkling.”

He made a strange noise, somewhere between a gag and a sob, and squeezed the cloth over his mouth tighter. “Knock Out, he wouldn’t stop. I kept telling him she was leaking out, but he wouldn’t listen. He just kept cutting and—and then she went silent. Allodyn yanked out the sparkling and just kept going. I told him over and over that she was dying, but he thought he could save her. I wanted to leave and get help, but I thought if I left—” He grimaced, and Knock Out noticed the small signs that he was scrunching his eyes shut.

That was the extent of what Knock Out believed he could handle, his nausea returning at the description of events. Over their bonds with him, both twins conveyed their notice of his distraught state. There was no pushing either away, so Knock Out allowed their emotions to mingle, letting them in on an impression of his mindset and allowing the comfort they provided to soothe him.

He tugged Aid closer, bringing him down into the crook of his neck to cry there, not minding the energon smearing on his pristine finish. Aid needed the closeness.

“You’re done, Aid,” he soothed. “It’s alright, now. You’re done.”

“I didn’t do enough,” Aid argued through a sob.

“You did as much as you could.”

It took several breems, but once Aid calmed down, Knock Out stepped back and handed him a wash cloth. “I’m going to start on your back while you handle your face.” He lifted the facemask he had retrieved into view and shoved it under the stream of solvents to rinse it off. “Get cleaned up, then you can put this back on.”

Aid nodded solemnly and took both the mask and cloth. They rearranged, Aid facing the stream, Knock Out facing Aid’s back. The work went by in silence, save the sounds of liquids crashing on them.

This may have given Aid peace, but the quiet only allowed Knock Out’s mind to wonder. He thought of the sparkling within him, the wild life he came to know and loved as dearly as his twin brothers. That child lying dead on the ground could very well be his if something like this were to happen again. Those dark, empty eyes stained his mind like energon on armor. A kick to his plating and a pulse of anxiety from his youngest was a sign to him that his vivid recalls caused emotions that were too overwhelming for an underdeveloped mind.

He slowed his washing, placing a hand on the place his son had hit him. Another kick, and Knock Out rubbed the area of his abdomen. The sparkling twisted around so his helm pressed painfully low in the chamber. Knock Out cringed and pushed at his lower abdomen to get him to move again, to no avail.

Uncomfortable though he now was, the interaction and subsequent pain had succeeded in distracting him.

“Are you okay?”

Knock Out looked up to stare at Aid’s turned helm. “Bit backwards, aren’t we?”

Aid shook his head and shuffled to face him, his mask back in its rightful place. “We both know I’m not alright. Are you, though?”

That was an innocent question that required a lie for an answer. Knock Out had raised two sons, so he knew there were times one could lower defenses and times to put on a façade. So, he smiled, easily and with a comforting glow.

“I promise, I’m fine.” He tilted his helm forward to seem more serious. “Promise me you won’t blame yourself for all this. There are people who must accept their blame, but _you_ are not one of them.”

Aid nodded after a klick, and coolant tears welled in the seam between his mask and visor, seeping through in little streams. “I promise.”

This was the hardest part of being a healer. It was a terrible, cruel consequence for not saving a life, whether it had been possible or not. The guilt that consumed those who had to be the one to tell another person that they would never see their loved one again had the power to drive the weak to insanity.

And Ratchet and Pharma were well aware of this. They had broken sparks before and knew the kind of torture it entailed. Which was why it was the perfect punishment.

Knock Out watched from his placed among some crates as Allodyn, backed by their superiors, spoke robotically to the femme’s poor conjunx. The big mech looked as though he was shrinking as Allodyn explained what had happened, what he had done. Knock Out couldn’t generate any sympathy for the medic. After all that mech had put him through and what he had now done to this young family, Allodyn deserved to let his actions haunt him. To have this memory of a conjunx coming to terms with such a massive loss engrained in his processor until the day he died.

And to remember it was all for the greed of prestige. A truly worthless venture.

Knock Out watched as the mech’s face morphed from shock to horror. From horror to distress. From distress to bitter understanding. He watched as Allodyn recoiled from the digit shoved at his chest and stumbled through empty apologies. He wasn’t sorry, Knock Out knew with the utmost certainty. Allodyn believed he had done what was necessary, had said as much. This was all just a display of fear for his pitiful life.

The mech began shouting, begging the question of why his conjunx and sparkling weren’t with him now. Why the medics hadn’t done more. Why the universe was so cruel.

It was when the armored warrior began to sob through his yelling that Knock Out decided he couldn’t take any more. This was Allodyn’s punishment, not his. And besides, there was nothing he could do.

He stood up with some difficulty, causing the mech to spare a glance his direction before returning to his verbal assault on Allodyn. Knock Out didn’t linger, stalking off towards his office to retrieve a few reports that needed to be completed. He would do them in his quarters, later, after a few rounds of whatever game Sides and Sunny had stolen. He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! That happened. Just be prepared for what comes next, that's all I can say. 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think, and I hope you have a better day than the bots in this fic!


	9. Rising Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lawsuit has begun, and things begin to fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot stress this enough: heed the warnings.

He shifted in his seat, having a difficult time finding any form of comfort.

“As we move forward in this case, I should like to introduce a key informant.”

The overseer organized the datapads littered across his table before waving a dismissive hand towards him. “State your designation, occupation, and overall involvement for the records.”

“I’m called Knock Out.” He cleared his vocals, gearing up for the boring formalities mandated of him. “I am the Chief of Surgery at Kima Base and currently the third priority division commander, CMO Rachet and Pharma as my superiors. As for my involvement,” he made a suave gesture with his servo, “I diagnosed the patient.”

The blue Praxian (Smokes, was it?) stood up from his table, making his way to the stand Knock Out sat behind. “I present this witness to offer in his own words his interpretation of the events under discussion.”

The overseer nodded, leaning back in his chair to stare across the room at him. “Proceed.”

Knock Out smiled like he was talking to a stubborn patient. “An injured soldier was removed from the battle field, her wound categorized as a low priority. So, she was transferred to my division,” he indicated himself with a flourish, “where she began to suddenly show signs of extreme pain manifesting as convulsions. First Aid came to me for assistance in the diagnosis, and I recognized her state as emergence.

“Allodyn and First Aid then took over her care while I reached out for aid that was never received. From what I understand,” Knock Out cycled his vents, fighting down the nausea, “her and the sparkling’s bodies were fatally damaged.”

“And the cause for said damage?” the Praxian prompted.

“A reckless surgery,” he answered, glancing over to his left at Allogyn sitting next to his own lawyer. His rival refused to look up from his hands.

The Praxian nodded at him encouragingly. “Please state your position on who is responsible for the events that occurred.”

“Allodyn. He refused to believe he was harming the patient, despite frequent attempts to urge him to reconsider his actions. He willfully killed the femme and, in the process, her creation.”

With a shallow bow, the Praxian turned around to face the overseer. “I leave the witness to further questioning,” he announced, then walked back to his table.

The overseer made a faint sound of acknowledgement as he noted something on a pad. When he peered over to Knock Out, it was with an unnervingly neutral expression framed with intimidation by his tall shoulders. “You made the diagnosis?”

“Yes,” he answered readily.

“How did you come to the conclusions you did?”

Knock Out motioned to his middle and the widened seams adoring it. “The patient began leaking gestational fluids and experiencing periodical waves of pain. Her chamber was also enlarged, according to a physical exam. I—”

“Right then.” He looked back down at his notes.

“Additional information requested,” the Praxian lawyer interjected, standing as he spoke.

At the overseer’s curt admittance, Knock Out added, “I recognized the signs from personal experience.”

“Would you consider yourself an expert?” the overseer asked.

“No. Hence why I sought help.”

The overseer reviewed his notes, glancing back and forth between them and Knock Out situated on the opposite end of the rhombus the courtroom formed. “No further questions. The inquiry is passed to defense, Contrail.”

Allodyn shuffled uncomfortably as his lawyer stood to walk away from him. The mech was a decent looking flyer, though with an unfortunate brown coloration, and he walked with a confidence ill-suited for his appearance.

“I have several questions,” he began, his tone reeking of arrogance. “Firstly, why is it that you, who claims to have personal experience with the patient’s aliment, did not continue to provide her your care?”

Knock Out choked on his answer as the sparkling began to push against the chamber walls uncomfortably. “I’m on a lighter duty,” he explained with a light strain as he adjusted. “Not fit for actually caring for patients passed handing out my insight.”

“But you knew Allodyn and First Aid were inexperienced?”

“Yes, I did. They were as unqualified as the rest of the base.”

“Apart from you.”

Knock Out eyed Contrail, trying to discern just where he was being taken. “I’m going to repeat myself. No one was skilled enough to handle the complicated case, so I set out to correct this and was _ignored_.”

“Meanwhile, you could have focused on the patient,” Contrail pointed out, a small smirk emerging.

“ _No_ ,” Knock Out corrected. “I can’t tend to patients and haven’t for orns now.”

“Why are on light duty?” he challenged.

Knock Out grimaced as the sparkling stretched again, pushing at his fuel tank. He pressed his palm to his abdomen, but his try at moving him only gained him a hard kick. “I’m currently carrying. It hasn’t been a pleasant experience.”

“But you are neither on probation, suspended, or at risk of death or injury?”

He bared his denta at the ugly mech. “I purge at least five times every joor, so _no_ , I haven’t been performing operations or extended care.”

“In this instance, however,” Contrail held up a digit for emphasis, “you were the sole medic capable of caring for this now deceased patient, correct?”

“Interjection!” the Praxian called out.

“On what grounds?” Contrail argued.

“You’re twisting the truth, thus demeaning the investigation.”

Both lawyers looked over to the overseer, who saw passed them to continue his visual assault on Knock Out. “Correct him, Smokescreen.”

“Knock Out has been legally deemed unfit for patient treatment aside from overseeing from a distance and diagnosing. His actions reflect the appropriate approach to avoiding patient-harm.”

The overseer nodded with careful motions. “The correction is recognized. Contrail, move on.”

The flyer seemed to fluster a moment, which brought a grin to Knock Out’s face he couldn’t begin to hide. His expression morphed right back into frustration once the fool opened his mouth.

“Have you ever been associated with Decepticons?”

Smokescreen shot up again. “Explain the relevance.”

“That should be obvious.” Contrail glanced over his shoulder to the overseer, continuing once he received a nod. “Have you?”

Knock Out’s spark flipped nervously when he and Contrail made eye contact. “No, I have not,” he lied, keeping his voice even and serious.

“Have you ever interacted with a Decepticon? Yes or no.”

Knock Out huffed. “Who hasn’t at this point?”

“Just answer. Yes or no?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Interjection! Allow the witness to elaborate.”

Contrail slouched where he stood, sending Smokescreen a dirty glare out of the corner of his eye. “Accepted.”

With another huff of his vents, Knock Out began. “During an invasion of Kima about twenty vorns ago, Ravage attacked me—in full view of several other medics—in a safe room. Other than that, I have no experience with their kind.”

Contrail must have spotted an opening because his optics suddenly lit up. “Yes…I recall descriptions of the event. Tell the record exactly why Ravage attacked you.”

Well frag, Knock Out panicked, seeing exactly where this was heading. Unfortunately for Contrail, he had lived through his fair share of negative remarks and questioning of his past actions. Not that he enjoyed this particular debate, though.

“I was in the beginning stages of emergence with my older twins,” he explained. “They were early, the base was, as far as any of us knew, under attack, and my conjunx was out of my reach. Ravage saw I was vulnerable and threatened to kill my twins, so I panicked.” He leaned forward as much as he could, quirking a brow at the arrogant flyer, his crimson eyes flashing. “I was in pain and acted in defense of my endangered sons. Pry into that bit of trauma, I _dare_ you. But I am _not_ affiliated with the enemy.”

“Perhaps. But you were accused by most of your peers, including your rival, Allodyn.”

A humorless laugh escaped him. “Is _that_ what Allodyn told you? That he was ever my _rival_?” Knock Out collected himself, sitting back in his seat, palm still prodding at his lower abdomen. He was beginning to feel an annoying pressure there. “If your aim is to say _I_ put Allodyn in the position he was in just to get back at him, then you’re an idiot.”

“Strike from the record,” Smokescreen pleaded.

“I veto that!” Contrail challenged.

“To be determined,” the overseer decided. “Make your point.”

Contrail cleared his vocalizer. “You and Allodyn were, as I understand it, consistently at odds. Did this friction ever provoke you to drastic action?”

“No,” Knock Out answered honestly. “Let me be clear—for the record—that Allodyn has been nothing more to me than another peer who hated me for no reason. He is the epidemy of lingering functionalism in this cause, but he was _never_ alone in his opinions. And yet, I have maintained my professionalism.” He used his free hand to motion to himself pridefully. “And no one has ever come close to me to warrant the title of ‘rival’. Ask my superior. Pharma will tell you I was always _leagues_ ahead of everyone else.”

Contrail only smirked. “With all this in mind, then, what do you think the outcome might have been had you been in Allodyn’s position?”

Memories of the scene he’d walked into resurfaced, and with them, every night he had lied awake pouring over the ‘what if’s. “I’m a doctor,” he began, tone low and slow. “I refuse to say for certain what ‘might have happened’.”

“Humor me?”

He cycled his vents, the pressure in his middle building again. “My sequence of actions would not have changed. I would have sought help and sent someone to retrieve who I needed when I was ignored. In the meantime, I would have continued to monitor the patient. When complications presented themselves,” he hesitated, grinding his denta as he battled over what to say, “all I will admit is that I know the anatomy better than Allodyn.”

“Would you summarize, then,” Contrail asked, his smirk widening, and gestured to him, “why it is, with your superiority in medicine and personal experience with the case, that you did not do everything in your power to save her and, instead, allowed someone you knew would cause her harm to perform in your stead?”

Anger rushed through him, jolting Knock Out into a stand, his weight resting against the stand’s ledge. He leaned forward on his hands, ready to throw whatever curses came to mind to the mech with the audacity to throw the blame of a dead carrier onto him. A wave of pain stopped him, the pressure surrounding his gestation chamber increasing to a level he could no longer ignore. The intimidation tactic turned into him bending over, braced on the ledge.

“And now we have three compressions within ten breems. Time for a break.”

Knock Out glanced over to see Greenlight casually standing up from her seat next to the stand, monitor in hand. He felt around his lower back and the sensor still attached to his plating. The number was higher than he thought, so it must have malfunctioned.

“Can he at least answer the question?” Contrail asked, sounding mildly disappointed.

“No,” she denied plainly. “We’re doing a forty breem recess.”

Greenlight’s hands pushed lightly on his back, urging him to sit back down. Now sitting back up, Knock Out could see Contrail gesturing pleadingly between the overseer and him. The larger grounder cycled his vents like he was perturbed.

“Greenlight,” he asked, “can this not wait?”

Much to Knock Out’s amusement, the femme threw the mech an empty smile. “Sure. I’ll just let my patient go into emergence. Right here in court. He shouldn’t take up too much time since there’s only one and he’s a bit smaller than his brothers were.” She clapped her hands together and made a sliding motion. “He should fly _right_ out.”

The overseer acquainted his face with his hand. “The visual was unnecessary. Strike that from the record and let the witness finish.”

“With all due respect, Ultra Magnus,” Greenlight said, not bothering to suppress her condescending tone, “you gave me the clearance to do my job. Let me do it.”

Knock Out beamed at her. The pressure was beginning to ebb, but he had no desire to say as much and continue this courtroom debate. When the overseer finally gave them approval to leave, he allowed Greenlight to help him to his peds and escort him out.

“Three?” he quietly asked once they were far enough down the aisle of spectators to not be heard by the lawyers and Ultra Magnus.

Greenlight held up her monitor, pointing to the oscillations on the display. “A few small ones, then they started picking up. Why? You didn’t notice?”

Knock Out shrugged, pausing as he waited for Greenlight to open the courtroom doors. “I felt some pressure, but not exactly how I remember it with the twins.”

They walked into the adjacent room where, joors ago, people had waited to be allowed into court to watch the drama unfold. The crowds had been gradually waning as the trial wore on, but this was still the most interesting scandal to happen in a long time. Now, though, the waiting room was empty.

Greenlight got to work ordering him to pace, observing for signs of something in his gait and vitals that Knock Out was unfamiliar with. All he cared about was that the walking actually helped. But they didn’t get far into the routine before the doors opened.

“Hey,” Breakdown greeted, slowly sliding the door closed behind him as quietly as he could. Once shut, he shuffled over to the pair. “You feel okay?”

Knock Out changed course, moving to fit himself against Breakdown’s warm chassis. He made a noise of discomfort, though, when the sparking slammed his peds into the chamber lining and another bout a pressure seized him. Burying his face in his conjunx’s chest wouldn’t help, but he did it anyway.

“I want him out of me.”

Breakdown chuckled and ran his hands up and down his sides. “Soon, babe. You okay, though?”

He hummed into the thick armor. “Sure.”

“Hey,” Greenlight piped up. “I had to leave my case by security. It has some medications and scanners I want, so I’ll be right back.”

Knock Out shifted so he could nod at her, watching as she stalked off without further conversation.

Once alone, Breakdown wrapped his arms securely around his smaller frame, resting his mouth on the top of his helm. “Thought Smokey said this would just be a formality?”

Knock Out laughed sarcastically. “He _did_. Contrail didn’t get that memo.”

The kiss to his helm didn’t solve any of his current issues, but it still found a way to make Knock Out feel more relaxed. He smooshed his face harder into Breakdown’s chest, grasping at seams in his sides to tug himself closer. The sparkling rolled over then quieted, distracted by little nothings pulsing back and forth over the bond with his sire.

“Thank you,” he muttered, relieved that his abused internals were given a short break. “How are my other troublemakers?”

Breakdown kissed him again. “Arguing over some electronic thing. They’re both in a funk.”

“They can leave if they want, it’s fine.”

“No, they’ll get it together,” Breakdown said adamantly, bringing out his rare, authoritative side. “We’re here for _you_ and Aid not some…game whatever-it-is.”

The doors leading back into the courtroom slammed open, loud ped falls piquing Knock Out’s interest. When he tried to pull away to see who had entered, Breakdown tightened his hold.

“You alright, mech?” he asked to the room’s new occupant.

No response, just vents kicking on in distress. Knock Out glanced down through a gap between Breakdown’s arm and side, hoping to see a glimpse of who had entered.

“It’s a lot, I know,” Breakdown agreed. “You doing okay?”

A cycling of vents, then the mech spoke up. “I just don’t get this.”

It took him a klick, but Knock Out was fairly certain he knew who that voice belonged to. But some emotion in his conjunx’s field told him it would be unwise to acknowledge him. Breakdown’s entire being felt on-edge, and the pressure around his chamber began to build again.

“Me neither. But I’m just letting all this blow over.”

“That must be easy for you.” The mech began to walk, his steps growing louder with every fall. “Don’t act like we’re on level ground,” he growled.

Breakdown shifted him in his arms, so he was further hidden behind his larger chassis. The gap remained, affording Knock Out a view of the widow’s antsy peds.

“I can only imagine what you’re going through,” Breakdown reasoned. “Just think, soon enough that mech’ll be locked away forever. Maybe even on death row.”

“In what? A vorn?” The peds moved a step closer. “It’s been decacycles, and all those fragging scrapheaps can agree on is that she’s dead.”

Knock Out didn’t squirm or protest when he was subtly lifted, only aiding his ascent by bracing the tips of his peds on Breakdown’s. The change would allow them to move away swiftly and without obstructing each other. They immediately used it to take a cautious step away.

“I know, and I’m sorry—”

“Shove it,” he hissed. “You don’t know _anything_.”

“Can I help you?”

Knock Out glanced over his shoulder to see Greenlight waltzing in as if nothing were amiss. If she wasn’t swinging around a shock prod with faux casualty, he might have believed her obliviousness.

Breakdown eased, though he didn’t set him down, as the other mech began to backtrack.

“No,” he answered. His voice was layered with guilt, depression, and some other feelings Knock Out couldn’t discern. “You could have, but you didn’t. None of you did.”

The room fell silent as the mech stormed off, leaving the vicinity entirely with a frustrated growl. Knock Out didn’t released the vice grip he had on Breakdown’s chassis, though, until he felt his lover’s arms around his back be replaced by Greenlight’s prodding hands. Once separated, he looked Breakdown over, noting his tense, pint up plating and the claw marks he had left behind.

“I don’t think he’d hurt you.”

Knock Out frowned, looking up at his conjunx with an expression that clearly stated how little credit he gave the statement.

“I mean it,” Breakdown defended. “I can’t imagine the pain he’s in, but I doubt he’d want to give it to someone else.”

“Stay clear all the same,” Greenlight instructed. She finished her physical exam of him then handed over her monitor. “Whether he’d lay a hand on you or not, he stressed you out. And this sparkling and I have agreed to at least two more decacycles.”

Knock Out scoffed, but he had to admit the readouts proved her right. Memories of the cycles leading up to the twin’s emergence tried to resurface, but he shoved them down. “How much longer do I have until I’m sacrificed to the lawsuit?”

Greenlight eyed him, no doubt realizing just what her patient’s aliment was. “As long as you need.”

Knock Out nodded then handed back the monitor. Perhaps a better person would have gathered themselves and walked right back into the interrogation in the name of the friend they were there to support. Perhaps a better person would have stayed with that femme, against any legality limiting them. But he was simply wasn’t willing.

He took Breakdown’s hand in his and squeezed it. “Get the twins. I think I’m done for now.”

A lot of changes had been made for their creations, not that Breakdown minded.

The first was intimacy. Knock Out had decided at some point while carrying the twins that he no longer enjoyed interfacing. He had assumed that would simply be a phase, much like his lover’s moodiness, but no. Cycles after their emergence, Knock Out still didn’t care for their usual pass time. It didn’t bother him, necessarily. They still cuddled and had two new sparklings who were exhausting and distracting enough, but coaxing Knock Out back into their merges felt like their early life on Velocitron. One hesitant, one patient, both seeking to know the other.

He had expected their priorities to change, but Breakdown was woefully unprepared for other people’s reactions to that. The Wreckers became his main concern. When placed in a position to choose between his family and his unit, he thought they would understand he could never pick them. Instead, all his once-friends understood was that there was strain between them now.

Breakdown was sick of hearing snide comments thrown at his sons from most of them, so after Pyro was torched, he and Knock Out sought ought a different living situation. Sides and Sunny were mad at first, but they hushed up once they realized they would no longer share a room with their creators. With a change in quarters came a change of mindset. They were spending more time doodling on the floor than looking over their shoulders. Knock Out wasn’t afraid anymore to fetch the twins something alone. Life felt more at peace, like it was intended to be lived this way.

That ease of living was helped by communication. He and Knock Out had grown accustomed to spending long stretches away from each other, reuniting with a vengeance that spoke volumes of what their lives had become. But once command approved his lighter deploy rate and the twins joined them in their berth, that passion felt out of place. However, without it, arguments erupted over the littlest of things, like where a certain trinket was placed or how much sweetener they ought to allow Sideswipe to ingest (the answer was none).

And so, their late night talks began. They each made it a point, whether quiet interfacing was done or not, that they would not fall into recharge without saying at least one good and one bad thing that had happened that cycle. It hadn’t been a miracle cure, but it had been a start. And these moments reminded Breakdown again of their beginnings on Velocitron, back when they hadn’t been physical. When they only had little confessions and jokes to share.

Breakdown bent down to kiss Knock Out’s forehead, blissful in their post-intimacy haze and resurfaced memories, and counted his blessings. He loved someone deeply, and that love was returned. He had now three creations who he would do anything for. He had people he trusted, few as they were. All of that was far more than most ever had.

Visions of the war threatened to intrude, but Knock Out was quick to banish them. He kissed him hard, but not with any further intentions. He caressed to sooth, not to entice. Despite all the turmoil Knock Out was experiencing within himself, he still managed to inspire calm in him.

When his frame flinched and tensed, Breakdown ran a hand to his lover’s side, feeling as the sparkling squirmed in the confines of his carrier’s frame. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the distension in Knock Out’s middle. “Hey, sweetspark, you want to give your carrier a break?” He got a decent kick in response. That would be a ‘no’.

“Break…”

His attention shifted to his conjunx. Immediately, he noticed the strain in his features and ragged venting as his cue to grab the wastebin at the side of their berth. He helped Knock Out into a sitting position, bin in his lap, and rubbed on his back as he purged.

When he was finished, Knock Out moaned pitifully. “I’m done with this.”

“The vomiting?”

He received a dirty glare. “ _No_ , my paint job.”

Apparently his clarification was not appreciated. “Oh. Just didn’t know which upset you were talking about.”

Knock Out made to retort but dry heaved instead. “Done…with all of it,” he muttered, hopelessness seeping through in his words.

Breakdown frowned at the sad tone. He panicked over what to do but ultimately decided it was a lost cause. There wasn’t anything he could do to solve or even lessen the problems plaguing his lover. He couldn’t quiet the sparkling within him, he couldn’t hurry the trial, he couldn’t change other people’s perceptions.

“I’m sorry.”

Knock Out set the bin down and shuffled his weight to turn to him. “What? What for?”

“I…I don’t know,” he signed. He knew he was feeling some kind of distraught, but putting all of that to words was another matter entirely.

A soft caress to his cheek prompted him to look up from his fidgeting hands to Knock Out’s brilliant eyes. They smiled at each other, and for a moment, Breakdown’s agitated mind relaxed. He tugged Knock Out into an embrace, wishing he could just absorb all his troubles and shoo them away.

“If I can help you, that’d help me,” he whispered.

Knock Out cycled his vents and pressed closer, conceding in his own, showy way. “I feel as though I’m being targeted.”

That wasn’t a surprise, but it unnerved him, nonetheless. “By who?”

“I don’t know,” he signed. “I just…feel put off.”

Breakdown situated so Knock Out was more secure in his lap. “This about Strife?”

“Who?”

“The…Spurnen’s conjunx.”

Knock Out stared at him as though he were speaking a foreign language.

“She’s the mec—femme that Allodyn, you know…killed.”

“Oh!” Knock Out exclaimed, forgetting for a moment to keep his voice down. He glanced at the door leading to the twins’ room before correcting his volume. “I’ll never understand how you come by people’s names.”

“You…?” Breakdown struggled to find the adequate words, but decided this wasn’t worth another debate over. If Knock Out wanted to know someone, he would. “Are you still antsy?”

Knock Out nodded, burying his face in Breakdown’s chest. “You aren’t?”

“I am. Just more concerned about him.”

“How so?”

Breakdown peered down at him, recalling the dark thoughts he had conjured when he learned what had happened. “I just keep picturing being in his position. You know what I’d do if I was.”

Knock Out turned serious, his eyes narrowing and his mouth pressing into a line. “You wouldn’t because you have two reasons not to.”

He shrugged. “If I have the twins, then yeah, I’d keep going for them. I’m talking being _actually_ in his situation, losing everything like that.”

Knock Out fidgeted, glancing about the room. “No comment from me, the hypothetically dead mech.”

“I don’t want to think about that,” Breakdown admitted, hugging him a little closer, a hand resting on the forever active sparkling. “Anything else?”

“Nothing I can put words to,” Knock Out huffed. “Tell me something good.”

That took a bit of thinking. After vorns of him simply saying “the twins did (a thing)”, Knock Out had finally confessed his annoyance at the repetition, saying that activities with them were a given. Breakdown had quickly conceded, reassuring himself the strong feelings would pass once the carriage was over. As valid as his new aversion to certain tastes, but only a temporary truth. But that still left him reaching for something to say.

“Uh…I think Kup named Impactor as his successor. That’s a good thing.”

Knock Out stared at him questioningly. “What’s wrong with Kup?”

“Nothing! He always has someone picked out. I was apparently up there on his list until I told him we had sparked the twins.” He rubbed the back of his helm. “Technically, I’m not supposed to know, but Kup let it slip to me and ‘Pac.”

Knock Out considered that for a moment. “Do you think he actually made a mistake, or did he want you two to know?”

Breakdown shrugged and made a noise that vaguely sounded like an “I don’t know”. “How about you?”

“We interfaced.”

“Funny.”

“No really,” Knock Out insisted. He winced and shifted to move the sparkling, palm pressed into the plating. “The highlight of my day was not feeling this fraglet abusing my internals.”

Breakdown helped him to lie down on his side and pressed their fronts together. Letting his engine idle against Knock Out’s plating tended to put the “fraglet” into a bit of a trance but hadn’t worked the last few times. Tonight seemed to be different. His world lightly vibrating, the sparkling quieted to soak in the strange change, allowing his carrier to slack in relief.

“Just a little longer,” he reassured. “Then he can kick me instead.”

Knock Out groaned. “And I was worried this would be like carrying the twins. This…this is much worse. I can’t _wait_ to go into emergence.”

Breakdown laughed and stroked his side. “I could do it next time.”

Knock Out smiled up at him and hummed, hugging him closer. “We’ll say it was an accident. Get you sparked in a vorn or two, then you can avoid the fighting entirely.”

Breakdown shifted to give him a soft kiss. It was a pleasant dream but one they wouldn’t actually try to make a reality. If the Autobots had no quarrels letting Knock Out work until emergence or forcing him back into the field before his sons were even an orn old, then he doubted any leeway would be given to a carrying Wrecker. Putting a creation in harm’s way simply wasn’t an option.

But still, the dream lingered. Maybe, once all these terrors died down, things would change. They could live somewhere peaceful, free of other people. Sunstreaker could live next door with Blue and start a family of his own. Sideswipe would probably alternate between occupying each home, never one to enjoy consistency or solitude. This sparkling would grow up and live his own energetic life, followed by many more siblings. Perhaps, they would even investigate their eldest’s whereabouts and reunite with him.

It was only a dream, but it brought Breakdown peace. He held Knock Out tight and longed for his sons to be small again, cuddled up next to them without a clue what was happening outside their bubble of innocence.

A will to fight rose in him. For the sake of his family, their situation needed to change. But there wasn’t anything Breakdown could do for now other than dream.

Knock Out stretched, enjoying the way his stiffened joints pulled and popped. He threw the datapad he had finished working on into the growing pile next to his desk. The mess really didn’t matter at this point. Any information stored in the pile was more readily available on his terminal, now. He’d deal with the clean up once he could properly bend down.

“Are you done for the cycle?” Aid asked from his place on the office couch, his voice meek and concerned.

Knock Out couldn’t blame him. After his disastrous interrogation the cycle before, the case against Allodyn was back to its stagnant pace of circular arguments. Much as he didn’t care to leave Aid alone, he needed the break.

“I am,” he answered with a comforting smile. “As are you.”

Aid shook his helm and sunk deeper into the couch. “I still have a few more files Pharma wanted me to go through.”

It was a load of scrap, Knock Out was well aware. Aid had pestered Pharma for any form of work to do, but given his mental state, he wasn’t allowed to see patients. His persistent had become such a bother that Pharma eventually relented. “He gave you those out of pity.”

“I know,” Aid muttered, barely audible. “I’m still doing them.”

Knock Out cycled his vents as he stood, making his way over to his friend. “Aid,” he said slowly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you meet up with that cute mech you met a while back? The black one with the visor?”

“Trailbreaker?” Aid shook his helm. “He’s a _friend_ , for one.”

“ _And_ is destined to return to Iacon once the front moves.” He shook Aid’s shoulder. “Leaving _you_ with a limited window of opportunity.”

Aid seemed to mull over that, eventually lowering the datapad in his hands. “Maybe,” he conceded, then looked up, pointing a digit at him. “But only as my _friend_. And after I finish this.”

Knock Out hummed knowingly. “Sure,” he sang. “Stay in here, if you want, but if I find you like this in the morning, I’m firing you.”

Aid chuckled. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Test me, then,” he taunted, swishing away towards his office’s door. “See what happens.”

He left to the tune of First Aid’s laughter, which brought a proud smile to his face.

The rest of the medbay was relatively quiet, most everyone preoccupied with long term patients or minor injuries. Knock Out stopped by the receptionist on his out, confirming who was where and which medics were on-call. As he walked out, sparing an idle glance those anxious sparks still in the waiting area outside, he scanned the halls for his escort.

Every cycle at the end of every shift and between every break for past several orns, either his sons or his conjunx were waiting for him just outside the medbay. No combination of his loved ones was there to greet him now. Knock Out checked his chronometer, confirming what he already knew. His cycle’s shift had ended about ten breems ago. Perplexed, he opened his comm unit, checking that he hadn’t missed a message while on duty. But no.

The abandonment he felt was entirely uncalled for since he didn’t really _need_ the security detail to begin with, but sadness and guilt penetrated his mind, nonetheless. He couldn’t think of any conversation he’d had with Breakdown or the twins suggesting he was no longer a priority, but clearly he was missing something.

His inner turmoil flooded over the bonds he shared with his sons, prompting both to become suddenly alert. Sideswipe immediately threw open any barriers between them to assault Knock Out’s spark with questions concerning his distress, understanding once he realized the emotions’ origins, then fierce guilt. All within two klicks.

When a comm channel pinged for him to join a call, Knock Out opened it with a frown, glancing over at the other people in the foyer he was about to disturb.

::Carrier! I’m so sorry!:: Sides burst out, his side of the bond relaying his genuine guilt. ::We got distracted.::

::Hey:: Breakdown chimed cautiously.

::Sire and I are sparring, and we were trying out this new technique where I get on a really tall, like, table—::

::We didn’t pay attention to the time:: Breakdown finished.

::We’re packing up right now, though::

::Don’t, it’s fine:: Knock Out assured, beginning his trek to their quarters with a huff. The training rooms were on the other side of the base. In the time it took them to walk to the medbay, Knock Out could be back in his room dozing. ::Finish up your session, and I’ll see the two of you later.::

::Sunny is closer to you, I think.::

::Slag it, Sideswipe! Use my name.:: Knock Out could clearly visualize the scowl his golden son was likely wearing.

::Where you at bro?::

::Bluestreak and I were in the rec room. We’re heading to the medbay, carrier.::

Now that was a much shorter walk, but still. ::You don’t need to waste your time with Blue walking me to my room, love. I’m perfectly capable.::

::Not a matter of that, babe:: Breakdown said, strangely serious. ::I don’t want you alone. Sunstreaker—::

::I’m already walking out the rec room. Share your location, carrier, I should be there in bit.::

Knock Out complied, deciding further argument simply wasn’t worth it. He stopped to lean against a wall in the long hallway, noting the lack of traffic. This late into the evening, that wasn’t especially surprising, and the quiet was rather pleasant.

Pressure began to build as it usually did in his lower abdomen. He placed his palm to the plating, feeling as the sparkling shoved himself into the chamber walls. Some mild pain initiated in his back, but it faded after a few klicks.

The same on-and-off routine he had gone through the past few cycles. Knock Out cycled his vents and shut his eyes, cursing this carriage for mocking him with now-constant false starts.

“Hello?”

His whole body went rigid at the sudden sound. Knock Out halted his venting, hoping whoever it was hadn’t heard him and just might leave him be.

“I need a medic.”

Well frag, he swore. Off-shift as he was, he still had a duty of care even if he’d rather ignore whoever had disturbed him. He opened a single optic, scanning the side of the hall leading to medical for the voice’s owner. All he saw was a mech standing off in the middle of the corridor. He didn’t appear to be favoring a leg or a side nor was he leaking energon all over the floor, but he was clearly eyeing him.

There went his peace.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked, not trying to hide his exhaustion as he sauntered over. “I can look you over then defer you to someone…else…”

Of all the things to recognize about a person, it was absurd to look at a mech’s peds and know exactly who they were. But there were no doubts in his mind. Slowly, with small, measured movements, Knock Out scanned the rest of the mech’s frame, confirming just who this was.

The mech he’d help make a widow was glaring down at him, his much larger frame towering a solid four heads higher than Knock Out’s unimpressive stature. He set his shoulders, shifting until his mass blocked the overhead lights.

“Do you have any other play besides that?”

Knock Out shook himself out of the shock. “Pardon?”

“I could have been dying, and you were just going to call someone else to clean up my remains.”

His tone was cold, sending shivers down Knock Out’s spinal struts. The concoction of pressure and pain returned, and he had to put a hand across his middle to contain himself.

What was he supposed to say? No, that wasn’t true? Of _course_ he would save someone who was obviously going to die? His past actions, as far as this mech was concerned, proved him quite wrong.

“Strike, was it? Take it you don’t need me, then?” he asked, dawning his flamboyant façade for the sake of de-escalation. “We can just continue about our evenings…” he took a casual step back. Over his shoulder, Knock Out noted where this hall intersected with another in a ‘T’. Behind him was the dead end.

“ _Strife_ ,” he corrected, his irritation rising. “It took a lot out of me to trust you, red eyes, but you seemed to know what was going on.” He took a step forward, and Knock Out mirrored it. “So, I trusted you with her life.”

“Well…I am a _doctor_.” Knock Out placed his free hand on his hip. “I understand you may feel—”

“ _Understand_?” he growled, moving closer.

“You may feel as though the world is failing you,” Knock Out finished. A quick calculation was made, taking into account which side the sparkling was resting more on and when the next wave of pressure might hit. “We just have to trust that people will do their jobs to the best of their abilities.”

“Like you?”

He took a deep in-vented. “I was more referring to the lawyers and such. That’s the root of all this, isn’t it? How utterly _long_ it takes for justice to be served?”

Strife sneered. “There’s no justice in that courtroom. Just a bunch of mechs fighting over who can lie better.”

Knock Out nodded, using the motion to glance to his left. “That we agree on.”

“Stop distracting me,” he commanded in a low, even voice. Not the sound of a mech out to satisfy a fleeting passion, but the voice of someone who’s rage had festered into a calm madness. “You have a conjunx, too.”

“I do,” he answered, figuring there was no point in lying about something Strife would have known.

“How would you feel if you lost him?”

Knock Out paused, his expectations fraughted. If Strife wasn’t after him…. He opened his comm unit, but all he could hear across all channels was static.

“Imagine it,” Strife said wistfully, moving closer. This time, Knock Out held his ground. “He’s your whole world, isn’t he? And your creation? Imagine them both within the same frame, dying the same death.” He took another step.

“I have imagined it,” he confessed. “You don’t know the scares I’ve had or the nightmares I’ve faced. And I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone.”

“Not even your worst enemy?”

Knock Out shook his head. “ _No one_.”

Strife’s eyes grew still and vacant, coming to a decisive conclusion. “Especially not your conjunx.”

Knock Out caught the glint of moving metal, optics veering to its source. From his subspace compartment in his upper leg, Strife had procured a long dagger.

Leaning subtly to the side to gain momentum, Knock Out bolted. He veered left, aiming to take off down the corridor. Maybe bump into someone. Maybe find a storage closet to hide in. His plan was rather rushed, but the important thing was to distance himself as much as he could from his attacker.

He took a risk and ran close to the corner where the halls met. It paid off, Knock Out racing away as Strife slammed into the wall. It bought him all of three klicks, but it increased his odds, nevertheless.

A turn off was just up ahead, and Knock Out braced himself for the weaving. Pressure was seizing his lower half, not helping his escape in the slightest. He begged for the pain to dissipate in time for the maneuver.

His spark spinning, his abdomen and back tormented, the terror inspiring sound of a transformation sequence behind him, Knock Out veered hard to the right, intending to continue running away as Strife overshot the turn.

But he acted too soon. Knock Out collided his right half with the corner of the wall, flinging around to the other side with enough force generated by his speed to dent his shoulder on the hard metal. Pushing down the pain, he shoved off and ran again, fueled by the loud engine shrieking next to him.

The push off sent him into a diagonal path with the opposite wall, but he was stumbling too much to make a course correction. Another transformation and something seized his left shoulder, digging grooves into the plating. He yelped as inertia caught up to him, and he was thrown against the wall. His arms lifted in time to block some of his front from the collision, but his body still vibrated horribly.

His shoulder was grabbed again, Strife whipping him around, so they were face to face. Before Knock Out had the chance to call for help, Strife’s forearm was pressing into his throat, crushing his voice box. When he screamed, all that escaped him was static.

“You failed to save my conjunx,” Strife said, pushing his arm further into Knock Out’s neck cables, “Now your conjunx will know what you’ve done to me.”

Knock Out wheezed and grasped onto the arm pinning him in a desperate attempt for relief. He locked eyes with Strife, hoping to witness at least a little empathy, but the empty void in his gaze was overwhelming. Knock Out was beginning to understand just how deeply penetrating this loss was. There wasn’t just the sudden absence of someone he loved; a part of this mech’s spark had died along with her.

“Please,” he mouthed, broken static doing him no favors. Strife only stared into him, his gaze cold as his resolve was realized.

Knock Out’s vision went white as the blade pierced his abdomen. Pain ignited in the region, coursing through his circuits until his body went numb from the onslaught of sensations. He could feel the blade cut into plating, larger fuel lines, and the enlarged chamber. It slid through him with a distressing ease, only stopping in its course once the tip lodged in the wall behind him, running him clean through.

When he reset his optics, Strife was still staring at him. Knock Out was sure he intended to watch the light burn out of him, but then the arm at his throat pulled away. The loss of support caused him to slide down a ways, and he fought for control over his legs to push himself back up and reestablish pressure.

He tried to scream, but his voice box didn’t miraculously heal itself. An idea occurred to him, and he opened his comm unit.

“Good,” Strife said to himself. “You still can’t call for anyone nearby, and the jammer should be working.”

Knock Out swore like a solider, squeezing his eyes shut as his body finally caught up with what had happened. The impalement _burned_ like a terrible freeze. His vents kicked on, and through the haze, he felt liquid seeping onto his hands situated on his middle. He refused to open his eyes. If he couldn’t see the damage, then it wasn’t there.

The heat of another mech’s frame infiltrated his vicinity. His optics shot open when the blade moved, and he desperately grasped at the hand holding the hilt.

“I’m not stupid,” Strife told him. “I remember why Spurnen wasn’t treated right away. They said the debris lodged in her back was keeping her from leaking out.” The dagger jerked as its tip was freed from the wall, jostling its victim. “Take it the same applies here?”

Knock Out shook his head in the negative, throwing as much honesty into the motion and his field as he could muster. The ploy only succeeded in scrunching Strife’s face up into a distrustful sneer.

The blade glided out of him, as apathetically as it had entered.

A rush of liquids flooded from the tunnel running through him, and Knock Out frantically pushed a hand into both ends. His legs gave way under him, forcing him to slide down the wall until his aft hit the floor, his useless legs unfolding numbly in front of him.

Strife had no more to add, evidently. He procured the comm jammer from his subspace and tossed in on the ground with indifference then walked away.

Knock Out didn’t watching the fragger leave. His full attention was devoted to the hole in his center. The gestation chamber was pierced, the blade having torn through the top of it. Based solely on his sparking’s confusion laced panic, Knock Out determined his little frame hadn’t actually been stabbed, but that was hardly a victory. Pale yellow fluids had exploded over his front, mixing in with dark blue line-energon. And the hole had released the pressure within the chamber, deflating it.

Pain blossomed in his lower back as the chamber seized, squeezed the cut and prompting more fluids to pour out between his digits. If he could yell, he would have, but as it was, all Knock Out could do was quietly cry.

When the compression finally ended, the sparkling lashed out, stretching as much as he could against his drastically different circumstances. The action only released more fluids and caused bile to leap from his throat.

He tried to lean over when he purged so that he didn’t adorn the wound with more issues, but his torso couldn’t twist, the move only causing him more pain that inspired uncontrolled vomiting.

Another compression overwhelmed him accompanied by a transformation sequence coming online. In his agony, Knock Out didn’t realized he was slipping until his back met the floor, crushing his winglets. Once the wave washed over him, he had a moment to feed his panic.

The situation couldn’t become much worse. He was now in the prime position for any and all fluids to leave him thanks to gravity. An emergency emergence had begun, but the sparkling was wide awake and now lying further within him, away from his only way out. Any effort to solve either problem involved being moved in ways he simply could not without help or the loss of even more fluids.

The jammer was still close by, but the ability to comm anyone was useless at this point anyway. He could sense his sons had registered his pain. They, ideally, would have called for help in his stead. The only thing he could do was lie still and wait.

His sparkling clearly didn’t understand this concept. He twisted and squirmed, trying against all logic to fix his predicament. Knock Out pleaded with him to stay still, to minimize the fluids he was losing, but there was no reasoning with a being as thick headed as he himself was.

With another compression, his abdomen split open, his body speeding the process of removing the creation from harm at an alarming rate.

Knock Out didn’t know what to do. If he aided his frame, he risked literally squeezing his energon out of the wound, but there was a chance his sparkling could be spared. But, if he fought to still himself, then he might buy them both more time.

Logic gave him a solid answer, but his instincts hated it. In the end, he had to agree with his frame.

On the next compression, he strained to help the damaged chamber contract around the sparkling and shove him in place. After three agonizing attempts, he felt something successfully lodge into the lining’s opening. Only to wiggle itself out a klick later.

Knock Out sobbed into the next wave, his body on fire, his life blood gushing out of him, but the sparkling was so overwhelmed by fear and stress that he couldn’t succumb to stasis. Instead, he struggled, even as his spark was beginning to loss energy.

His vision blurred, alerts appearing on his HUD of an impending shut down blocked by the emergence protocols. The overhead lights were blinding, magnified and tinted by the coolant welling up in his optics. A blurry mass appeared and overshadowed him, yellow balls of light hovering within the dark above him. He closed his eyes, deciding to ignore his surroundings. Whatever was going on outside of himself didn’t matter.

Another compression hit, but Knock Out had no control over his body. He was elsewhere, above and within himself, completely centering on the life he was failing to save.

_Stay_ , he pleaded, but the sparkling didn’t respond. The lines connecting them were still intact, but the fluids they were meant to circulate painted the floor now. His spark flickered, his small body drained.

There wasn’t any pain on his end, just the sinking feeling of losing a fight with recharge.

For Knock Out, it felt like the end. His spark tore itself apart as the bond connecting them broke and shattered. His vision went out, he couldn’t register sounds or touch or any pain past the internal shredding. All that filled him now—his mind, body, and spark—was guilt and misery.

Breakdown sat down on the bench with a tired thud.

“But he’s okay?”

Ratchet’s expression was professionally neutral, even as he slightly shook his head and leaned his weight to one side. “He’ll be in surgery for a while. We’ll have to wait and see how he handles it. Pharma and Greenlight are running it, if that’s any consolation.”

As much as he longed for something more decisive, the honesty was still appreciated.

“But there’s nothing else you could do?” Sideswipe asked, suppressed emotions straining his words. “About…for the—”

“He was dead when I found them.”

Breakdown looked up from his fidgeting hands to his son, trying and failing to think of some way to provide him comfort. Sunstreaker was bent over where he sat a little ways away, Bluestreak by his side. Knock Out’s energon still stained his usually pristine complexion all along his front and arms.

“Maybe you’re wrong!” Sides challenged, jolting up to his peds.

Ratchet cycled his vents solemnly. “I know this is hard to come to terms with—”

“No!” Sides exclaimed. “This happens to cruel people and soldiers, _not_ my carrier and definitely not my brother.”

Breakdown rose to gather Sides in his arms. “I know,” he agreed, embracing his creation despite how much he protested.

“I _hate_ this,” he hissed, surrendering to the hold, burying his face in his sire’s neck.

There wasn’t anything he could say to fix that, much as it hurt to admit. Needing a distraction, Breakdown turned on his superiors. “Least we know who did this.”

Ironhide stiffened uncomfortably, his focus more on the crying twin than him. “Yeah, security got a visual on him, caught the whole thing. Mech’s avoiding the cameras now.”

He must have pulled a suspicious expression because the security SIC eyed him oddly and shifted his arm cannon into view. “You got an idea of where he’s at?”

Breakdown nodded, shifting Sides to his other shoulder so he could face the larger red mech. “If he went after Knock Out, he’d probably go for either Allodyn or Aid next.”

Inferno tilted his head like he was listening in on a conversation. “Tracked First Aid. He’s in the rec room with the rest of Defensor.” He paused. “Allodyn’s off grid.”

“LKL?” ‘Hide asked.

“Upper levels, in Section Eta.” Inferno clapped the commander on the shoulder. “You’re with me. We’ll scout out the area.”

“I’m in.”

They both looked at Breakdown with shock that slowly morphed into pity.

“Stay here, kid—”

“And do what?” Breakdown interrupted, ignore Ironhide’s frown at the interruption. “I can sit here and be sad about this, or I can help save someone else from this scrapheap.”

“Let them both rust,” Sunny muttered.

Sides popped his head up to glare at his brother. “Death’s a kindness to mechs like that,” he said darkly. He didn’t object when Breakdown lightly pushed him back down to the bench, only slumping pitifully.

“It’s fine by me,” Inferno said, “if you promise not to kill him.”

Breakdown tightened his stance defensively. “Killing Strife isn’t going to bring my child back or heal my conjunx.”

His answer was sufficient enough, and Inferno nodded sternly at him as a cue to follow. Before he left, he turned to Ratchet, desperation seeping into his expression.

The older medic held up his hands passively. “I’ll alert you if his condition changes and will keep an eye on them.” He motioned to the three mechs huddled somberly together.

Blue looked up, and his gazed locked with Breakdown’s for a moment of mutual understanding. The kid didn’t need to be told to watch over his lover and friend, he had no intentions of leaving.

Satisfied, Breakdown made his way out the medbay without another word, eager to catch up with the other two red warriors. They didn’t exchange further pleasantries, opting to get to the upper levels as efficiently as possible, driving down the halls with Inferno in the lead, taking them down paths with the fewest people in the way. The rush was strangely soothing, casting to the back of his mind the pain his spark was still recovering from.

It did nothing to dwell, he kept telling himself. What was done was done, and he just needed to focus on his current actions.

When they arrived in the proper section, the halls were eerily quiet. The three of them stalked the area, searching every corner and closet for either some sign of a struggle or a body. For nearly a joor, Breakdown combed the entire floor, but there was nothing abnormal to be found.

“We sure neither of them has turned up somewhere?” he whispered to Ironhide as they merged their paths in the hallway overlooking the hanger.

“Nothing yet,” ‘Hide huffed, sounding just as antsy.

Breakdown looked out the line of windows across the long wall. Dark out, now, Cybertron was coated in a thick layer of black. It was difficult to see, but Breakdown caught glimpses of the few ships parked in the hanger just outside. Some he recognized from the front lines as supply ships, probably waiting to be restocked come morning.

He was about to turn away when he saw something move. As he stared at the figure, watching as it morphed into two separate shapes before colliding again, Breakdown smacked Ironhide’s arm.

“Slag!” he cursed in surprised. “Mech, what’s—”

“Outside,” Breakdown instructed, leaping into a run. He pointed out the window as he raced down the hall towards the hanger doors.

“You think one of them’s escaping on a ship?” ‘Hide questioned, jogging after him despite his confusion.

Breakdown was too occupied with flinging open the doors and scanning the vicinity to form an answer. The night obscured most everything, but little changes in the lights and darks of the horizon let him know just where the figures were.

“There,” he said and pointed to the shapes running about the hanger. He knew Ironhide had spotted them as well when the officer shoved his wrist to his face.

“Inferno,” he called into his comm. “Hanger Bay. Get Red Alert to turn on the lights and get yourself over here.”

No sooner had Breakdown stepped outside, the stadium lights flashed on, illuminating a large frontliner grabbing on to a lithe, reddish mech. Strife recoiled at the sudden brightness and bodily dragged Allodyn with him towards the end of the ledge.

The darkness banished, Breakdown could plainly see the narrative that had unfolded. Strife had locked his victim in a firm choke hold from behind, seemingly dominating the weaker medic. But the scorch marks and cuts littering what aspects of his frame Breakdown could see suggested Allodyn had put up quite the fight. He, for his part, looked utterly terrified. His arrogant complexion was thrown out in favor of a bid for mercy.

“Go away!” Strife shouted once he reset his optics, jostling Allodyn for emphasis. It was then Breakdown noticed the short sword held steadily in his other hand, the length of it stained in blue.

Several different emotions swelled in him, but there was no time to address them. “I won’t leave you alone, Strife!” Breakdown countered, moving closer cautiously, searching for signs of drastic actions.

The mech seemed surprised for a moment, but it was only a brief lapse in resolve. “Do you know what I’ve done?” he asked, barring his denta. “Do you know what this is like now?”

So, forcing empathy was the reason behind all of this. The urge to purge rose, but he vented hard to shove it down. “Knock Out isn’t dead,” Breakdown stated, to himself as much as to Strife, “he survived…our sparkling didn’t.”

Breakdown watched as Strife internalized this. The arm around Allodyn’s throat loosened as he thought, but it was quickly retightened.

“Don’t bother trying to kill me for that!”

“Wasn’t going to,” he admitted, stepping further forwards. When Strife looked at him like he was lost, Breakdown continued. “I don’t want to kill you, I just want to help.”

There was a calm pause, then Strife shoved the short sword up to Allodyn’s neck.

“Primus! Please, don’t!” Allodyn cried, grasping onto the arm that held him and shutting his eyes to block out the world.

“Shut it!” Strife shook the medic before he refocused on Breakdown. “This is a trick!”

“It’s really not—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he sobbed. “I tried to take everything from you! You should feel the way I do!”

“Strife,” he appealed, forcing his voice to sound soft despite the circumstances. “Getting rid of you doesn’t change what you did. They’re gone. Your love, both our sparklings. That’s more than enough death, so please,” he motioned pacify, “let me help.”

He didn’t move, only looked into Breakdown for an ulterior motive that simply didn’t exist. Their gazes locked, Strife said, “Do you understand me?”

Breakdown’s spark froze over, realizing where this would lead them. “I do,” he confessed. “I think you and me got that in common.”

Strife nodded, jabbing the edge of the sword into Allodyn’s neck to draw energon and a pained yelp. “He _killed_ them. He ran a knife through my world and destroyed it.”

It took a great deal of self-control not to say, ‘I know’, but Breakdown was aware that would only upset him more. “This won’t change that,” Breakdown reasoned instead. He took another step forward but stopped when Strife physically threatened to throw Allodyn off the hanger, leaning the medic over the edge.

“Please!” Allodyn sobbed, squirming in vain to be back on stable grounds. “Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I killed her, I didn’t want to, but please, I don’t want to die!”

“Neither did she!” Strife brought him back and swiped the blade over Allodyn’s face, slashing the mesh open from one eye across to the opposite cheek.

::Just hold out a little longer:: Ironhide said over a private comm channel. ::’Ferno says he’s got a few flyers waking up and making their way here.::

Reassuring, but Breakdown was at a loss for what next to say. He couldn’t convince Strife to find it in him to live or to give Allodyn another chance.

“You’re all to blame!” Strife yelled, tightening his grip on his victim, coolant beginning to stream from his blue optics. “You all just let Spurnen die, and now you’re letting her killer wonder around while justice takes _orns_ to be dealt!” He shuffled backwards, peds precariously close to the edge. “It’s your fault this fragging war won’t fragging _end_! We could have been done with this! My conjunx would still be alive, and we’d have a life to look forward to! And y _ou_ —” He jerked Allodyn, giving him a threatening glare. “—you killed me, too, when you ripped her apart.”

“I’m sorry,” Allodyn pleaded, energon trickling down his face. “I _am_ , I’m so sor—”

The sword’s edge was sheathed into Allodyn’s chest, landing in his spark chamber with a loud sound of crystals cracking, before he ever had the chance to finish. Allodyn didn’t even have time to make shout or scream as his spark shattered under the blow, and his optics went dark.

Strife removed the weapon, but he didn’t release the body just yet. He held Allodyn against his front like a shield and drew his features tight.

“I need to see her, to tell her this monster is rusting in the Pits,” was his only explanation. And with that, he leaned back over the edge.

Breakdown wasn’t sure what his plan was, but he ran to the falling mech all the same. But by the time he reached the ledge, a booming thud resonated across the vicinity. There was nothing below but darkness and the faint flickering of biolights burning out. He knelt there for what felt like joors, but the sky never signaled the beginnings of morning.

“Hey, mech,” Inferno called out cautiously from behind. “Let’s get you a little closer to home.”

Home…the concept sounded appealing. Home was quiet nights and warm comfort. It was red and gold lights and infectious smiles. Breakdown rose, longing to feel that kind of tranquil.

He turned his back on the Cybertronian landscape the hanger overlooked, spotting a shade of red that was all wrong. It was too orange, too much like Allodyn’s obnoxious paint. And the owner seemed to only have one hand, the other arm preoccupied with being a gun. A white, long, narrow cannon. It had to serve only one purpose. Breakdown couldn’t imagine trading a hand, a tool capable of loving and healing, for something so apathetic.

He walked away from the ledge, moving past the weapon and its wielder, ignoring the questions thrown his way. He bypassed Ironhide and all his protesting. There was nothing more to say, to Strife, to his sons, let alone to Inferno and Ironhide. No, Breakdown much preferred the thought of being as close to everyone he loved as possible. That was the only thought he allowed his mind to hang on to.

He needed to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should like to emphasize my previous point about understanding the consequences of drastic actions such as the ones I depicted. Nothing I write is for shock value. It is all, every detail, in the name of narrative and foreshadowing.


	10. Falling Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The court has come to a decision, so, too, must Knock Out and Breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I've had a busy couple of weeks. So sorry this took longer than I'd like, but at least I also added an epilogue to wrap a few more things up.

“This won’t go over well.”

Ratchet scoffed. “That’s not my problem.”

“Look, Ratch,” Ironhide said cautiously, “I mean it. You got to go at it easy.”

“Think that all you like, ‘Hide,” Ratchet dismissed, waving his friend away as he turned and walked off. “One thing I’ve learned in life is to just be straight forward. No curving around the subject, just say it how it is.”

Ironhide caught up to walk beside him and frowned uncertainly. “That won’t work with the twins let alone their creators.”

“Creators aren’t defined by their creations,” Ratchet countered, turning to scowl at Ironhide, letting him know the weight to his words wasn’t an accident.

“Fine, Ratch,” he huffed, taking the hint and throwing his arms up in a display of being through with the pointless argument.

Ratchet didn’t bother defusing the tension, confident he was correct. There was little Ironhide knew about dealing with normal people after vorns of only handling soldiers. Medics, on the other hand, dealt with people in a daily basis. If one of them knew how to give bad news, it was certainly not the Weapons Officer.

The conference room was a few breems walk from the medbay, and the pair spent the entirety of the journey in silence, Ratchet perturbed and Ironhide doubtful. The command meeting was still fresh in their minds, and neither was particularly thrilled with recent events’ resolutions. Ironhide had made his opinions very known, and while Ratchet had agreed with him to some extent, he couldn’t deny this was the right call.

And yet, dread seeped into the back of his mind. He was certain Prime was righteous in agreeing with the court verdict, but a nagging thought had Ratchet second guessing. Perhaps there was some truth in Ironhide’s perspective.

Ratchet in-vented and straightened himself, barging into the medbay with determined steps. It would do him no favors to be in distress as well.

The medbay was mostly vacant, especially in the recovery bay. It was late into the cycle, so visiting periods were closed until next cycle’s shift, which put Ratchet a little at ease. The less people he had to deal with, the better.

That bit of reprieve was thrown out once he turned down the hall and caught sight of uninjured people.

“You two,” he called out, jabbing a digit in the twins’ direction. “Get out.”

Sideswipe stood intently from the bench he and his brother were occupying. His shifty eyes stared down Ratchet and Ironhide, promises of self-indulgence clear in them.

“No thank you,” he replied, grinning like his carrier. “We’ve decided to stay here for tonight. We won’t get in the way. Promise!”

Ratchet stopped a few paces from the twins and crossed his arms. The mechlings wouldn’t have been much of an obstacle had they not parked themselves in front of Knock Out’s recovery room. Through the glass, Ratchet could see the frontliner bent over in a chair beside the occupied medberth, mouth moving in conversation with his equally relaxed conjunx.

The situation would playout best if Breakdown remained calm. Sure, the twins were hot-headed messes, but they didn’t get that unfortunate trait from their sire as far as Ratchet understood.

“I need to speak with Knock Out,” he said bluntly, redirecting his focus to the young warrior.

Sideswipe laughed humorlessly. “Not a chance. He’s with sire right now. It took joors for the both of them to calm down, so no way are you getting in there with _that_ bedside manner and ruining it.”

Ratchet was surprised by the lack of respect for a moment before he grit his denta at the troublesome youngling. “Listen here, kid,” he hissed. “This is more important than either of your egos.”

“I am perfectly level headed,” Sunstreaker pointed out. Ratchet couldn’t find the means to argue with him, seeing as the twin was still slouched in his seat, fiddling with his hands.

Sideswipe remained a completely different story.

“Don’t call me ‘kid’!” he exclaimed, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “We won’t let you disturb our carrier. That’s that.”

Before he could argue back, Ironhide lightly tapped his arm. Leaning over, he commented in a hushed tone, “This is why I came with you.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Sideswipe growled, directing his anger to Ironhide now. “You think I’m something that needs handling?”

“Kid,” ‘Hide said in his slow drawl, “I just meant that you can get frustrated quickly—”

“I’m not frustrated,” Sideswipe retorted, lifting a fist for ‘Hide to see. “You’re getting me pissed. You want to tempt that fate?”

Ratchet held out a pacifying hand. “Calm down, kid—”

“Call me kid again! See what happens to you!”

‘Hide shook his helm and stepped closer to the youngling. “Don’t even think about trying to fight me, Sides. It ain’t going to end well for you.”

Sideswipe grinned, lowering his fist, his whole body seemingly going lax with resolve. “If I can take down my sire, I take down your puny aft.”

“As if Breakdown doesn’t go easy on you,” ‘Hide pointed out, laughing a little to defuse the tension. “Don’t try anyth—”

‘Hide was cut off by a red blur colliding with his front. No sooner had Ratchet registered Sideswipe lounging at Ironhide, the seasoned warrior was lifted in the air atop the youngling’s shoulder and just as quickly body slammed to the floor.

Shock did nothing to slow ‘Hide down, though, and he was positioning his peds to brace for the next attack. But Sides eliminated what little advantage ‘Hide was gaining with swift, decisive steps, resulting with him on top. His legs tangled in Ironhide’s so his victim had no leverage, and in one hand, he grabbed both of Ironhide’s, leaving Sideswipe one free. With it, he connected a fist to Ironhide’s helm hard enough to dent.

Ironhide leaned away and yanked a hand free. He immediately used it to land a punch square in the mechling’s face, forcing the kid to either roll with it, thus releasing ‘Hide, or suffer the blow. Sideswipe chose the former, sliding into a position on his peds with the momentum. Ironhide made to kick the youngling away, but Sideswipe only used his new stance to grab the leg. In easy movements, he was standing, the leg in his sure grip, and flinging Ironhide over to his front, close enough to Ratchet that he had to backpedal.

As the officer recovered, Sideswipe wrapped an arm around his neck. He dragged Ironhide up onto his knees, securing the head lock. Try as ‘Hide might, he couldn’t pull out or squirm away.

Ratchet was well aware there was nothing he could do to pull the younger warrior off, but he did have an idea of who might.

He pointed to Sunstreaker, the young frontliner still casually situated on the bench. “You,” he addressed. “Get your brother under control.”

Sunstreaker finally looked up from his hands, his golden eyes glaring into Ratchet’s very spark. The gaze had Ratchet taken aback and, for a moment, doubt his decision.

“That can be you,” Sunstreaker said, his voice deep and serious. “Back off my carrier.”

Ratchet stared at the youngling, stunned into speechlessness. He worked his mouth searching for a response but was interrupted by the recovery room’s door sliding open. Dread clouded his mind as Breakdown stalked menacingly toward Sipeswipe, Ironhide still in his grip.

“Sides, let him off,” Breakdown ordered, placing a hand on his angry son’s shoulder.

“No!” he argued and tightened his hold on ‘Hide’s throat. “He said—”

“I get he said something, but you let go,” Breakdown said with more force. “Now.”

Sideswipe’s vents cycled hard and his whole body flinched sporadically as if he were fighting with himself. After a few tense klicks, though, he released his captive. As soon as Ironhide had tripped out of the way, Breakdown had Sideswipe caught in a tight hug.

Ratchet briefly glanced over at his friend, and when ‘Hide waved away his concerns, he rounded on the Wrecker. “I need to speak with your conjunx.”

Breakdown didn’t immediately acknowledge him, speaking to his flustered mechling instead in a tone Ratchet thought far too gentle given the situation. “We’re all really stressed. I know I am.”

“I _tried_ talking! I did!” Sideswipe argued, trying and failing to pull out of the hug. “They didn’t let me talk it out! Then Ironhide insulted me!”

When Breakdown twisted Sideswipe around so their fronts were facing, he lifted his son’s head to face him. No words were spoken, but whatever transpired between them caused beads of coolant to cascade down Sideswipe’s contorted face. He made a strained, frustrated sound as his sire wiped away the tears and pulled him close, letting him cry into his shoulder.

“I realize this may not be the best time,” Ratchet began, waiting until the Wrecker turned his head to face him before continuing, “but I do need to have a conversation with your conjunx. Sooner rather than later.”

For a moment, Breakdown only stared at him with the same vacant gaze as his quieter son. When he spoke, it was to said youngling rather than Ratchet. “Let him in.”

Ratchet side-eyed the golden twin with caution, watching as the kid nodded stiffly. Chest broadened to seem bigger than he already was, Sunstreaker cocked his chin at him. When Ratchet made to walk past him, the twin leaned over and hissed, “My carrier and I share a creation bond.” He glanced over to the windowed room, Knock Out sitting up curiously inside. “I’m watching. But keep in mind, I will know if you distress him.”

Ratchet nodded slowly, locking his gaze on the place where the window pane met the metal wall at about hip height, focusing on the shine of the metal and the odd shadows the glass created.

“I understand. Just know that what I am here to speak with him about may be distressing on its own.”

Sunstreaker didn’t respond to that, only straightened, his eyes trained on something behind Ratchet. Ironhide, most likely.

Ratchet took that as his cue to enter, and he steeled himself as he walked in, sliding the door closed behind him.

“Well, well, well,” Knock Out sang in greeting. “What did you do to anger my poor Sideswipe?”

“Nothing,” he retorted, making his way to the chair Breakdown had occupied moments before. It was situated far too close to the berth for Ratchet’s comfort, so he dragged it back a few paces before planting himself in it. “Kid has a bit of a temper.”

Knock Out grinned as though he knew something Ratchet didn’t and shook his helm. He locked his gaze on Ratchet, something in the way those eyes dissected him sending a chill down the medic’s spinal strut.

“I make no apologies for my sons,” he stated, his grin turning prideful.

“I don’t care,” Ratchet countered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “The trial ended.”

Knock Out didn’t appear greatly affected by the news, only humming uninterestedly. “And?”

“The court found Allodyn guilty. Not that that really means something at this point.”

That garnered more of a reaction. Knock Out sat up more, adjusting the sheet covering him as he did so. He leaned over slightly toward Ratchet, his smile filling with an eager joy.

“ _Fantastic_ ,” he said, “that this whole mess is over with then.” He waved a suave hand dismissively at his superior. “A simple comm would have sufficed. Rather than getting old Ironhide into a fist fight with my son.” He looked out the recovery room, at the twin staring intently at them and other punching his sire’s outstretched palm repeatedly. “We’ve been through quite enough, I think.”

Ratchet collected his emotions, glancing over at the mech’s family, trying to remember the words he had thought to say.

“No…I needed to talk with you in person.”

Knock Out looked over at him questioningly. “What for?”

After cycling his vents, Ratchet explained, “You’ve been charged with malpractice by affiliation. Essentially, the court decided that your deciding not to provide care was evidence of patient-negligence. Add to that the incident a few cycles ago…” He gestured tiredly with a servo. “You’ve been found guilty along with Allodyn.”

“Oh,” Knock Out said, his face turning vacant. “So, I’m…suspended? For how long?”

Ratchet shook his head and bent over to rest his forearms on his thighs. “Knock Out, you’ve been found guilty of murdering a carrying patient and inciting a murder-suicide. You’re not getting temporarily suspended, your medical license is being revoked.”

“I see…” Knock Out acknowledged carefully. He raised his chin at Ratchet, squinting his eyes suspiciously. “And if I’m not a doctor, I’m what then? Someone’s secretary?”

“You’ll be reevaluated by the new recruitment system.”

He scoffed at that. “So, a soldier then?”

“Not…necessarily—”

“Tell me,” Knock Out asked, “do you know anyone fed out of that system who isn’t cannon fodder, nowadays?”

Ratchet frowned, taking offense to such casual accusations. “We’re not the Decepticons. Our system is designed so everyone can find a suitable position—”

“That just so _happens_ to be as frontline soldiers.” Knock Out crossed his arms and looked away, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe it was different in the beginning of the war, but now? And where else could a so-called _murderer_ go?”

Ratchet tried to actually consider that, but when all he could picture was the scenario Knock Out described, he shoved the thought away for later debate.

“For the time being—”

“ _What_?” Knock Out mocked, still not looking at him. “Sit here and recover? Until I’m battle ready?”

“For the time being,” he repeated, raising his voice in irritation, “custody of the twins will fall to Command—”

“ _Excuse me_?” Knock Out rounded on him, his fiery eyes ablaze with fury.

“Let me finish one fragging sentence!” Ratchet shouted. He intended to wait until Knock Out calmed before continuing, but the red mech had no intentions on cooperating.

“Not a chance!” he shouted right back. He shifted to face Ratchet full on, the sheet sliding off him just enough to expose the edges of his welds. “You have the _audacity_ to not only hand me a death sentence but to—on top of that—take my sons from me? After everything I’ve just been through?”

Ratchet grimaced in annoyance. “If you would let me—”

“Explain to me why I’m wrong?” Knock Out grinned humorlessly. “Go on. Try to.”

Ratchet shuffled so he was sitting more on the edge of the chair. “You and Breakdown have been labeled as possible dangers to the two younglings, given what you’ve become involved in and Breakdown’s stunts with the Wreckers.”

Knock Out sat back, internalizing what was said. He had to know, Ratchet reasoned, at least to some extent the damages he and his mate were doing to the mechlings. It would break the ex-medic to let them both go, but for now, it was what was best for them.

“Did the court know what happened to me?”

The question threw Ratchet out of his thoughts, and he shook his head before he answered. “Smokescreen fought and won to have the events on record in court.”

“So…everyone was well aware of what we’ve lost.” He gazed down that the welds adoring his abdomen, tracing them idly. “And that Breakdown still did everything he could to save that wretch.”

“Yes,” Ratchet agreed, uncertain where Knock Out’s thoughts might be wondering. “The court found that as evidence of your involvement.”

Knock Out laughed shortly, not lifting his gaze. “What about Aid?”

“The combiner medic?” When he nodded, Ratchet answered, “First Aid was considered a victim of the crime. He’s fine.”

The mech hummed in acknowledgement but then went quiet. As Knock Out traced his welds, Ratchet turned his attention to just outside the recovery room. Sunstreaker was still watching on, though his serious expression had broken into something void of any feeling. Sideswipe was braced against his sire, his angry growls softening as Breakdown kept him in a secure embrace. The Wrecker, even occupied as he was with one son, seemed to be saying something calmly to the other, the glass and metal too thick for the sounds to travel through.

Ratchet had assumed the walls were sound proof enough that the twins hadn’t heard their conversation. But that didn’t appear to be the case.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning back to the ex-medic sitting solemnly on the recovery berth, the evidence of his tragedy in clear view. Ratchet didn’t envy him, the memory of his own losses still fresh in his spark even after all these centivorns.

“You’re _sorry_?” Knock Out asked, affronted. “This is wrong, and you know it.” He finally faced Ratchet again, his eyes piercing. “You’re not _sorry_. You’re _guilty_.”

“Look,” he offered, “this was a strange situation to be in, but you made the wrong call—”

“I want a retrial.” Knock Out gesture to his abdomen. “A verdict was placed on me while I was incapacitated. That should be illegal, and I demand the chance to reverse the charges.”

Ratchet huffed. “Magnus’s word was final. I’m not sure you could convince him to change his mind.”

“Magnus was biased.”

He scrunched his face into confusion. “Ultra Magnus is the furthest from.”

Knock Out stared at him as if he were disconnected from reality. “Get me Pharma, then.”

“Pharma?” Ratchet asked confused. “You won’t get far with him. He had less sway with Magnus than I do.”

“At least _he_ listens to me,” Knock Out fought. “Now. Get. Me. _Pharma_.”

Ratchet huffed and threw up his hands. As he stood up, sympathy prompted him to try to reach out again to the hurt carrier. “I know what it’s like…what you’re going through.”

“Do you now?” Knock Out mocked.

“Shut it!” Ratchet recollected himself. “I wish this hadn’t happened to you, really. You were an accomplished medic as far as I knew. But this is what it is, and you just need to deal with it.”

Knock Out only sneered and sat up to bring his welds into view. “My son died. You and all your fragging friends in command are stealing my other two. You gave me a death sentence disguised as a reassignment.”

Memories of Cybertron in the time of Functionalism resurfaced, but Ratchet let it reassure him. The Autobots were a far cry from that kind of life. “Bit of an overreaction. And we’re not ‘stealing’ the twins, just taking temporary custody. It’s just to appease the court ruling.”

“As if,” Knock Out scoffed, frowning in his hopelessness. “I know for _certain_ a member of High Command has a vendetta against me. I’m sure the plan is to wait just long enough for me to meet my demise on the battle field. By then, I won’t be alive to win them back and Breakdown will likely be denied all because Command hates Wreckers.” He leaned over, fury barely describing the look on his face. “I am being treated like I am less sentient than a _drone_.”

Ratchet recoiled, anger rising in his spark at the accusations. “Command is filled with nothing but the most respectable people in our ranks, myself and Ironhide included. You’re simply wrong.”

“You know what I bet?” Knock Out sang. “I bet that the only reason Aid was saved from all of this is because he’s part of a combiner. _And_ the only reason I’m seen as a danger is because that is what is assumed of me.” Ratchet worked his mind around a counterargument, but Knock Out shushed him with an outstretched digit. “This sentence of mine was dealt to me in three cycles. Allodyn’s trail took almost an _orn_.”

“The time frame is irrelevant,” Ratchet argued. “And if you don’t like the perception people have of you, perhaps consider changing it.”

Knock Out clamped his mouth shut, jaw clinching as he ground his denta. “Leave.”

Ratchet shook his head as he walked to the door, turning back around to give a final apology. “I am sorry. I know what it’s like—”

“Get out!” Knock Out shouted, his optics brightening with rage. The light in them only became more intense as coolant welled in them and refracted their red glow across the white of his face. Ratchet didn’t care to bother the mech much longer.

When he stepped out the room, Sunstreaker was there to greet him. He didn’t say a word as Ratchet walked past, only directing a hateful look that could make even Megatron’s plating crawl.

Ratchet looked over towards the other twin when Sideswipe made a pained noise. He was still beating into Breakdown’s palms, coolant streaming down his face.

“Get your back leg back under you,” Breakdown instructed as Sideswipe landed another hit.

The mechling grunted frustratedly but shifted his stance to do as he was told. “I won’t leave you! I won’t!” he cried, punching the palm much harder than before. “They’ll have to drag me from you!”

“Just focus on the follow through,” Breakdown said softly. He glanced over briefly at Ratchet, where he had stopped to watch the strange display.

They had overheard, that much was quite clear. Ratchet decided he didn’t need the look in the warrior’s eye to confirm it. Instead, he scanned the rest of the vicinity in search of Ironhide, finding his friend sitting casually on a bench two rooms away.

When Ratchet approach, ‘Hide waved mockingly up at him. “How’d the ‘direct approach’ work out for you?”

“Knock Out knows the court ruling. That was all I needed to do.”

Ironhide ex-vented curtly as he heaved to his peds. “This whole mess drags.”

Ratchet only nodded and started walking off to the main entrance.

“Wish Red Alert’ve let Smokey use the security footage he wanted,” ‘Hide said.

“What would that have changed?” Ratchet challenged. “Smokescreen described it well enough.”

“Different than seeing it, though,” ‘Hide pointed out. “And the footage from the rec room and all would have personalized him. Showed they aren’t a threat. They could’ve at least kept their sons.”

“We aren’t stealing the twins,” Ratchet stated matter-of-factly. “Besides, the verdict wouldn’t have changed.”

“Why not?”

Several excuses came to mind, but with each of them came reasonable rebuttals. Ratchet mulled over the investigation, over the conference and his conversation with Knock Out, over the hurt looks in the two younglings’ eyes. For the life of him, he couldn’t find an explanation. He just knew he was right.

The medbay was eerie without the twins to fill the space with their noise. It was necessary, though, to send them back to their room with their sire. His conversation with Ratchet proved the situation to be far worse than they could have ever imagined, and his sons needed the chance to cool down.

And yet, Knock Out thought to himself, he wasn’t surprised. This wasn’t some massive shock that the majority of people here thought ill of him and his family. He had dared to trust the justice system the Autobots had established, but it was evidently just as prejudice as their society’s before the war.

As he laid alone in the recovery room, waiting for Pharma to pay him a visit, Knock Out pondered over what would become of him. It wasn’t as if he could simply join the Wreckers to stay by Breakdown. There were criteria to be met for someone to join that freakshow. No, he would be nothing more than a common soldier shooting up Decepticons. No status, no grand purpose, no reason to be considered by anyone as a person.

He was right back where he started.

That realization prompted anger to build in his core. How dare the universe give him such a tease, showing him all his potential to only break him right back down to his roots. He gripped the berth’s thin sheet pool above his middle. His insides still ached, and the welds stung when touched, but Knock Out traced them anyway. The pain mixed well with his anger toward all that he was losing.

But that fire was short lived, dowsed in dread and self-pity. It had been different when all he need worry about were himself and Breakdown, but now he had more. It was a conscious effort to remind himself he still had two sons who were alive enough to need him. Sunstreaker would have Bluestreak to lean on, Knock Out was sure of that, but Sunny couldn’t stand appearing weak in front of anyone save his creators. He was liable to shove all he felt down until he was numb from it all. And Sideswipe really only had his family. Sure, he was friendly with everyone in Kima, but his poor creation was far too much like his carrier.

Neither would take this lightly, and Knock Out couldn’t blame them. Perhaps if they fought hard enough against this new arrangement, Command would send them back to him and Breakdown. But as much as that idea was tempting, Knock Out knew better. If his sons tried to fight, then they would be sent to fight. He could imagine the scenario vividly. The “terrors twins” showing sign after sign of their “needless aggression” and eventually being forced into enlistment so their anger could be directed somewhere useful.

It was a recipe for a disaster Knock Out would never live long enough to see. Such a grim future, but he still mourned his loss of it.

The recovery room’s door slid open, bringing Knock Out away from his darkening thoughts. He lulled his head to the side to check that it was indeed his mentor disturbing him and was relieved to see the familiar flyer.

Pharma stood in front of the door for a few klicks after it closed behind him, assessing the scene as if to ensure their conversation would go as he intended. It was a look Knock Out knew well by now, and it filled him with hesitant hope.

“What is it?” he asked, his unsure tone emphasized by a raised brow.

Pharma only smiled politely and strolled to the chair next to the medberth. “You asked to see me, yes?”

“Yes,” Knock Out huffed at the lack of an answer and pushed himself up so he was sitting. “You heard what’s happened?”

“Naturally.”

“How do we change it?”

Pharma eased into the seat, leaning back as much as he could without disturbing his wings. “Ultra Magnus’s word is law, Knock Out. There’s no convincing him he’s made a mistake or that he needs more time or evidence because he’s _thorough_.” He shrugged haplessly. “So move on from the court’s decisions.”

“Fine. I’m a dead mech then,” Knock Out bit out. “But I am _not_ losing custody of _my_ sparklings.”

“You already have,” Pharma stated plainly. “This is final. You are neither an Autobot medic nor your sons’ care taker. And besides,” Pharma waved dismissively, “they’re practically adults.”

Knock Out growled and buried his face in his hands before he relented to the urge to claw out Pharma’s relaxed face. Not for the first time, he became aware of how incredibly alone he was. He had become so used to there being someone so close to him, keeping him company throughout the last few orns’ chaos. Now, that vacancy was worse than any physical pain.

The emotion was beat down quickly. The last thing Knock Out wanted was to cry in front of Pharma. Such a display of weakness would only play him into whatever plan his mentor had for him, and he couldn’t afford to loss what little autonomy he had left.

“What’s the next step then?” he asked, his words even and smooth as if he was entirely under control.

When Knock Out removed a hand from his face to glance at the flyer, irritation resurfaced at the sight of his smug grin. “I have a…proposition.”

“Naturally,” he muttered. This was a good sign, but Knock Out still wasn’t completely hopeful. “What is it?”

Pharma shifted so he was sitting straighter and on the edge of his seat, his confidence radiating from him despite his EM field staying pulled to his person. “I always thought you unwise for never questioning how I knew of our deceased Decepticon allies.” His grin creeped closer to his optics as they brightened. “That bit of information would have been useful to you back then. But now?” Pharma shook his head like he was mocking him.

Knock Out only shrugged, not trusting himself to speak through his building anxiety.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise you if I said that I know a fellow flyer who just happens to be a ‘Con,” Pharma said. “It _is_ dangerously easy to gain a seeker’s trust if you yourself have any Vosian or Praxian in your linage. Fortunately for me,” he indicated himself with a flourish, “I happen to have both.”

Pharma’s pride in his coding was nothing knew, neither was the idea that he was so casually cordial with someone of the opposing side. Still, Knock Out nodded for his mentor to continue.

“My acquaintance mentioned to me that he had a bit of a problem some decavorns ago with a unit Starscream couldn’t control. They were saboteurs, you see, and thought too highly of themselves. So, when my friend mentioned where they were next to be stationed…” Pharma waved a servo in a circular motion, “I offered to help take them out.”

Knock Out nodded as the pieces fit together. “So the whole…deal you made with the unit was nothing but a ruse?”

Pharma shook his head. “No, they were there to spy on our base, and I needed a method of corruption that seemed a plausible enough reason to kill for the Decepticon command staff. The deal was real, there were simply details you didn’t care to understand.” He gestured widely at the room they were in. “Now, you’re the next to benefit from my little arrangement.”

That was what Knock Out was waiting to hear. A way out. A way to keep with him all that he had left. “I’m in. Tell me.”

“Don’t act so eager,” Pharma chastised gleefully, “you may not like what I have to say.”

“Will I live?”

“Maybe.”

Knock Out began second guessing his trust in the flyer. “Will my sons and conjunx live?”

Pharma motioned for him to be quiet, his expression hardening. “There’s no guarantee any of us will live till tomorrow. But I _am_ offering you the potential to live a little longer than your current situation.”

Knock Out cycled his vents to expel all his growing worries. “What is it, then?”

His mentor’s returning grin did nothing to soothe him. “I provide certain commodities to my friend whenever I see him as part of a trade the two of us have brokered. Given the recent spike in the war effort, I was concerned my share would be far too low for our next meeting. But I’m sure a new Decepticon would be a sufficient substitute.”

Knock Out’s processor stalled and ran through the words a few more times to make sure he was understanding them correctly. “Your grand solution to all this is to have us _leave_?” he hissed, trying to keep his voice low despite his frustrations. “Not go neutral or something, no, just move from one chaotic mess to the other.”

“Come now, Knock Out,” Pharma chided. “Changing sides offers you a whole realm of new opportunities. It’s a chance to completely start over. You could regain your prestige as a medic or become an engineer—”

“And what about Breakdown? Or my twins?” Knock Out pointed out. “The Decepticons will see them as nothing more than violent warriors. There’s nothing for them there.”

“Because they’re so much more _here_ , are they?” Pharma frowned and sat back in the chair.

Knock Out had to admit Pharma was technically right, but there were nuances he failed to mention. The Autobots had their fair share of issues, but at least Breakdown and their sons were treated well. Decepticons just didn’t extend that same level of care to their lowest members.

His family’s well-being was far more of a priority than his own life would ever be, that was as true as fact. “I won’t put them through this. Find some other way to pay off your ‘friend’.”

“You will, I assure you.”

Knock Out sneered at his mentor. “Turn on your audials. _I_ _won’t_ _leave_.”

“Think that all you like,” Pharma said hauntingly. He stood in a fluid motion, coming to lean in to Knock Out personal space. In a volume barely above a whisper, he said, “I know what you did to that Wrecker. Pyro, was it?”

Knock Out could feel more than see the grin Pharma was wearing, and his spinal struts ran cold as he realized what was being held over him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lied.

“Yes, you do. And you know the consequences you could face because of it.”

“He tried to rape me.”

“Oh, I have no doubts about what happened,” Pharma assured. “But it’s your word against a dead mech’s. And a cover up. And your most recent murder.”

Knock Out ground his denta together, glaring at Pharma’s chin. “The verdict was wrong, and you know it.”

“I do. I know very well that you would never kill without a probable cause. But, again, what good is anything I know of you if I don’t share it?”

“I’ll spill, then,” Knock Out threatened. “All your shady dealings. Every scavenged body, every meeting with Decepticons, every friend you keep on the opposing side.”

Pharma finally leaned away enough so Knock Out to see his smirk. “You mean the ‘shady dealings’ you are _also_ a part of?”

“I’ll say you forced me into it. That you knew I had a lover I wanted to see and tricked me into doing business with you. Or better yet, you threatened me into it.”

“None of which is true.”

“No, but it’s your word against mine.” Knock Out grinned smugly. “I’ll tell them everything they find wrong with me is because of you. The desecrations, the invasion of Delta Tower, the death of that femme all lead back to you and your meddling in the cause.”

“And _I’ll_ tell them that this…tragedy of yours as left you mad.” Pharma motioned to the other side of the room, to the counter and the container sitting atop it. “Who would people believe?”

Knock Out shook his head helplessly. He wanted to fight, but Pharma was right once again. His word was nothing, especially against a respected high ranking officer.

“You’ve come to your senses, then?” Pharma asked, smiling as if he were speaking to a difficult patient. “That no matter what you do, you lose any chance you have at staying in contact with the twins and Breakdown. You may even lose your live.” He finally stood up straight, shrugging once he was towering over his underling. “Your choices are to either comply with the hand you’ve been dealt and hope to Primus you survive the frontlines, _or_ you could start your life over, complete with the benefits of knowing me.”

Knock Out glared at the flyer and his arrogant face. “You get something more out of this. Am I wrong?”

“Far from it!” Pharma exclaimed chipperly. “With you on the other side, I’ll have expanded my reach into the Decepticon folds. _I_ will have another person I can trust,” he motioned to Knock Out, “and _you_ will have a connection to your ex-home,” he pointed to himself.

It far from the arrangement Knock Out had hoped for, and the thought of abandoning what had become his life was achingly painful. There was still no large part of him that wanted anything to do with change.

“Think of it this way, Knock Out,” Pharma spoke up. “You can either pick yourself up and move on, or you could do nothing. And if you do choose to do nothing, then you are going to die like any other nameless recruit, everything you’ve ever done dying with you.” He waved dismissively as he headed for the door, his back to Knock Out. “It’s all part of the beauty of the system. The Autobot’s Pristine Reputation Maintenance System.”

When he reached the door, Pharma threw another grin over his shoulder. “Let me know what you decide.” The door slid open, allowing Pharma to vacate the room without waiting for an answer.

Not that Knock Out was prepared to give one, anyway.

He glanced over at the container on the counter, debating with himself. It was a mere three steps away, easily accessible if he only built up the will. Over the course of the cycles spent idle in the recovery room with nothing but his guilt and self-pity, his sparkling had been a unique source of comfort. Temporary, of course. The pain of loss would creep up on him eventually, hence the container, but the little weight in his arms did something calming to him before the distress came.

Right now, though, Knock Out could only stare at the metal box. He didn’t really want to be calm, he wanted to be angry. He wanted to scream life back into the little body and tear apart whatever deity dealt him this fate. He wanted his sons, no questions asked. He wanted his life to return to normalcy.

But none of those were real options. He was trapped here in this state of limbo between a grave reality and an even crueler decision. The worst of it being that the right thing to do was so plainly obvious.

The night Knock Out was released from recovery had been restless to begin with, so Breakdown wasn’t surprised when he woke up well before his first alarm. His foggy mind only processed the empty berth after a few failed attempts to embrace the air.

With a groan, Breakdown opened his eyes, taking in the familiar murals on their room’s walls and the distinct lack of their artist. Groggily rolling to his peds, he tried to force his processor to think up reasons Knock Out might have woken up without telling him. Sneaking out came to mind, but that only made sense if he was looking for Sides. Nightmares weren’t an option either since there was no way Knock Out wouldn’t wake him up or otherwise get closer to him.

Well, unless the nightmare was about their younglings. As Breakdown fiddled with the door, he recalled a few instances he had found Knock Out curled up with the twins in their room, needing to assure himself the two were fine.

He started to get frustrated at the door refusing to cooperate, fearing for a split moment that Knock Out might have locked him in for some reason. But when he made to punch the stupid piece of machinery, his fist hit nothing.

Whether he had opened the door without realizing it or Knock Out hadn’t bothered to close it, Breakdown didn’t care. Looking down his outstretched arm, he had spotted his conjunx in the common room. The beautiful mech was pacing back and forth behind the couch, one hand fiddling with his face, the other with his abdomen’s welds.

So, it was anxiety that kept his conjunx from recharging. Breakdown stood in the doorway for a long while just watching Knock Out pace before he decided to try and help. Rubbing at the back of his helm, he asked, “Something on your mind?”

Knock Out slowed down to twirl in his direction and nod absently.

The lack of a snarky remark had several alerts sounding off. “What’s wrong?”

Knock Out worked his mouth open and shut a few times before shaking his head, giving up. He didn’t try to leave the area, though, so that was a good sign.

The urge to embrace him was strong, but Breakdown held back. Touching Knock Out once he had resorted to moving about a room nervously was never a good idea if the goal was to reassure his worries. Instead, Breakdown settled on the back of the couch, leaning up against it as he gave Knock Out his full attention.

It took another breem and a several more trips around the room, but eventually, Knock Out stopped in front of him with a pleading expression.

“I have to defect.”

Breakdown hummed questioningly, not at all trusting his tired mind to have processed that right.

“Defect. Change sides.” Knock Out threw up his servos and began to pace again.

“Okay,” Breakdown said, more as just a noise than any actual indication he agreed. “What makes you think—”

“Pharma!” Knock Out hissed, rounding on Breakdown, a servo pointing skyward. “That _glitch_ knows I killed Pyro. He has some contact in the Decepticons who he wants to trade me off to.” He threw his arms about again, releasing whatever emotion he was experiencing into his movements rather than volume, seeing as the twins were sleeping in the next room.

“Okay,” he said again blankly, not really following.

“It’s not _okay_!” Knock Out ground out, his optics brightening with the taken offense. “It’s far from _okay_! I’m trapped. My only options are to either die an Autobot or live a little longer by becoming a ‘Con.”

The words’ meanings finally started to catch up, and Breakdown recoiled like he was pushed back. “Wait.”

“And I don’t want to die, obviously, so that really only leaves me with one option.”

“We’re switching sides, though?”

“I am, love,” Knock Out sang, twirling a servo around, “do keep up.”

“Yeah, but,” he started, pausing to find the words until he realized the choice in pronouns. “Just you?”

“Well,” Knock Out began, gesturing in circles as his optics looked elsewhere, “I can’t just take the twins to the ‘Cons. Despite all that’s happened, they hate them more than they’re angry with the Autobots. Besides, they have security here. And with you,” he motioned to him, “you have to keep watch over our sons. Whether they’re in our custody or not.”

“Okay,” Breakdown said carefully, “and you get…what?”

“My life.” Knock Out shrugged, glancing over to him before studying a painting on the wall. “I would have my experience to guarantee me a place within a Decepticon medbay and Pharma to connect me to you.”

“Yeah, but…you’d be—you’d be gone. We’d be on opposite sides.”

“We’d never fight each other—”

“Someone I know could kill you, though.”

“I would, ideally, be in a medbay. Much like I was.”

“That’s not for sure, though.” Breakdown shifted so he was leaning on one servo perched on the back of the couch and could motion at Knock Out with the other. “Pharma said that? What if he’s wrong and you end up like you are now but far away from us? From me?”

Knock Out stared at him for a moment of consideration before dropping his sight to the ground. “Maybe…” He lifted his gaze, his hesitation from a moment before replaced by certainty. “But I _know_ I’m going to die if I stay. I have a _chance_ to live were I to leave.”

“It all might change though,” Breakdown reasoned. “Someone could come forward and change Ultra Magnus’s mind or something. Like First Aid.”

“Aid is being kept out of this,” Knock Out said adamantly. “He’s been through enough as it is. And besides, he made his case to the court already. Magnus isn’t going to be swayed.”

“What if he is? What if I go and beg him to reconsider—”

“You said you did that already.”

“Yeah, with the twins.” Breakdown cringed at the memory. “Sideswipe tried to rip his face off when he brushed us off. But it might be different if just I go.”

“You try that,” Knock Out chided, “let me know if you ever even reach him.”

He had a point there buried in the sarcasm, much as Breakdown didn’t want to admit it. He cycled his vents, planting his face in his free servo and letting it pull down at the plating there in exhaustion. “What’s the plan, then?”

“I tell Pharma what I’ve decided. He takes me with him to meet his contact, and I leave with the ‘Con.”

“That’s it?”

“I didn’t exactly bother to ask about the details,” Knock Out defended. “I was a little preoccupied with being overwhelmed.”

“Okay.” Breakdown closed his eyes, letting all the new information sink in. “Okay.”

“Is that…a yes or something?”

“It’s an ‘I’m thinking’.”

Knock Out went quiet, allowing Breakdown time to consider his opinion.

Really, it made some sense. Where they were was dangerous, so they needed to get out. The problem was not knowing if the next place was any better. Sure, the ‘Cons they had done business with weren’t that bad, but they were addicts, and he and Knock Out were their suppliers. Breakdown hadn’t met many Decepticons other than those two and the one’s he fought.

There was a very easy conclusion to come to about the latter, but the truth was far from that. They were in the same situation as him: low class mechs who found a way up and took it. The difference between him and a Decepticon was very miniscule, the more he thought on it. They all fought, killed, and risked death for the opportunity to make a better future for themselves, they just happened to follow different people.

And what had really drawn him away from Megatron anyway? Breakdown couldn’t remember any speech the miner had given that didn’t echo some shared experience. In fact, he couldn’t really remember why it was he had chosen the Autobots to begin with. Megatron’s passionate calls for equality still rang in his audials, but there was nothing in his memory banks of Optimus Prime save a few accounts form other people who knew him personally.

When he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of Knock Out having shuffled a little closer, a vulnerable look on his handsome face. Something in Breakdown stirred, not appreciating all that had been done to them to cause such a look of fear and hopelessness on someone so confident and strong-willed. Breakdown couldn’t remember any recent time he had been grateful to have chosen the side they did. He ached for the certainty that he would wake to his sons and conjunx alive and well, for the routine they had all established, for the friends he once had and the child he never got the chance to meet.

“Okay,” he said finally, nodding as he became sure of himself. “Sides and Sunny are almost old enough to enlist. They can handle not having us around. Their going to have to no matter what, anyway.” Breakdown cycled his vents to clear out the emotion clogging them. “But I know I can’t handle not having you around any more than you could handle not having me.”

Knock Out took a few small steps closer. “That’s a ‘we’, then?”

“Yeah,” Breakdown agreed, pushing himself up to meet Knock Out halfway. “You know I’d go wherever you go.”

The relieved smile Knock Out beamed at him was brilliant and spark twisting, but he lowered it as quickly as it had appeared. When Breakdown extended his hands, though, Knock Out didn’t hesitate to grasp them.

“This isn’t what I wanted for us.”

“Me neither,” Breakdown agreed, gently tugging Knock Out closer.

“Maybe it’s for the best we lost…what we did.”

“How?” Breakdown asked, hurt and confused at the mere idea, wrapping his arms loosely around his partner.

“Because the verdict would have been the same regardless,” Knock Out explained, sinking into the embrace. “I would have been charged eventually only with a new sparkling we wouldn’t be able to keep. Or leave.”

Breakdown nodded, brushing his face against the top of Knock Out’s helm, trying to absorb all the negative thoughts plaguing him. “Maybe it _was_ all for the best, then.”

The door to the twin’s room creaked, causing them to glance over at it. There was a small gap in the doorway, and through it, Breakdown could see his sons arguing quietly over who had pushed who, not realizing they had been caught eavesdropping.

“Sunny, Sides,” he called out, immediately ending the argument as the two jerked back behind the wall and door to hide. “How long have you two been listening in?”

Both slowly crept back into view, Sunstreaker pressing the keypad to open their door fully. “We were already up,” he explained. “Couldn’t recharge.”

“Something about Pharma being a glitch,” Sides added. “And that you killed someone?”

“Frag me,” Knock Out muttered, smooshing his face into Breakdown’s chest.

“Come here,” Breakdown encouraged and extended an arm out to the two, prompting them to join in. They both obliged, shuffling over like their legs were weighted down. Once in reach, Breakdown pulled his sons under each arm, so the three most important people in his life were held securely against him. “This doesn’t mean we’re abandoning you.”

“I know,” Sides huffed, shoving his face into his sire’s side to avoid looking up at him. “It’s just a lot.”

“I know, love,” Knock Out preened. Twisting in the embrace, he freed an arm so he could cup Sides’s face. “Do you understand, though? Where it is we’re coming from?”

Sides nodded, but it was Sunstreaker who spoke. “The best chances we have to all make it out of this alive are the ones we need to take.” He glanced between his creators, his stern demeanor betrayed by his anxiety flooding over the bond. “What’s the plan?”

Knock Out shook his helm, reaching out with his other hand to grasp at his son’s helm fin. “The less you two know, the better off you’ll be.”

A great way to pretend they had an answer. Breakdown squeezed both mechlings tight to seal the thought in their minds, all the while trying to commit the feeling to memory. It didn’t feel like that long ago the two were small enough to fit just in the crook of his arms, but now they were nearly fully grown, almost as tall as him. There were moments in their lives he had already missed, and now he’d be missing out on who knows how many more.

It was for the best. They just had to keep telling themselves it was for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I also hope the decision to change sides makes some sense in the context of these characters.  
> The epilogue will tie up a few more things, but let me know if there's still a question you'd like answered.
> 
> Stay safe everyone! Stay kind!


	11. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue
> 
> After the desertion of two Autobots, Optimus Primes calls for a meeting to discuss why they might have left and what security risks they may pose.

“And this is the same mech convicted of malpractice?”

“Yea,” Ironhide clarified, his tone betraying how uncomfortable he was by the connection.

“I can understand his reason for defecting, then.”

Kup made a sound somewhere between a dismissive huff and a judgmental note of arrogance.

“You have a comment you wish to add, Kup?” Prowl asked in his usual blank tone.

“A piece of work this all is,” he muttered with irritation, almost like he was disappointedly unsurprised to find his coworkers didn’t share his thoughts. “What about my mech, then? He ain’t been convicted of nothing, so why’d he leave? Explain that away.”

“I would like further investigation into that, as well actually.”

“Sarcasm,” Ratchet clarified gruffly. “You’d think you’d learn how to spot it by now.”

“They were Conjunx Endura,” Pharma explained in his sweeping manner of speach, his slight Vosian accent accentuated in the vowel sounds. “Wherever Knock Out goes, Breakdown is close to follow. That is simply how they are.”

“And you went and drove out one of them,” Kup added, no less irritated. “So, now I’m another mech down.”

“It is of no consequence to anyone save yourself that you are incapable of keeping your unit in line,” Prowl chastised, his arms raising slightly even while his hands remained clasped behind his back, the only indication he was perturbed.

“I’m with Kup on this,” Pharma challenged, smiling despite the situation. Kup seemed to be shocked by the ally, but he kept his reaction light with only unsure glances and mild shifting. “It wasn’t as if this was some decision made on a whim,” Pharma continued to explain, directing his focus from Prowl to Prime. “This was the result of vorns of discrimination at the hands of fellow Autobots. A problem many face every cycle that isn’t being addressed.”

“That’s a load of scrap, Pharm,” Ratchet argued. “The mech was too full of himself for his own good.”

Pharma rounded on his superior, disbelieving of the senior medic’s differing opinions. His brows raised until they were well hidden under his chevron, his mouth parting and closing in search of words. “You didn’t know him.”

“I met him,” Ratchet pointed out. “He was rude and self-important. Seemed to think the world was out to get him but not willing to do much of anything short of complaining to change it.”

Kup snorted rudely. “You’d think that, Hatchet.”

“You have no room to speak,” Prowl reminded the Wrecker Commander. “One of your mechs is currently imprisoned on account of misconduct—”

“Whirl was in the right, I’m standing by him,” Kup argued.

“—and another has just elected to desert. Shall I delve further into the unit’s past to recall your attention to your previous short comings?”

“Easy, babe,” Jazz sang, leaning closer to his partner to bump shoulders. “Kup ain’t the issue. But I am going to side with Ratch on this one.”

“Thank you,” Ratchet exasperated.

“You have experience with the mech of interest, Jazz?”

“He was involved in the Delta Tower-Kima incident. Plus, one of his creations is close to Blue,” Jazz explained. Though he shifted his weight toward the Prime, it was impossible to tell just where he was looking. Was he staring at his conjunx? Unlikely, but not unheard of for Jazz to be casually gawking. Perhaps he was analyzing Pharma or Kup for their reactions? That made the most logical sense, given they were each the commanding officers of the mechs under investigation.

“The yellow one? Sunstreak, yes?”

“Sunstreaker,” Prowl corrected. “His brother, Sideswipe, is also in association with our son. The two are known troublemakers and considered terrible influences.”

“They’re a bit troubled, is all,” Jazz clarified. “I mean, look at the creators.”

“While I have my fair share of…issues with the creations,” Pharma interjected, his smile falling into a hard line, “they aren’t ‘troubled’.”

“I have personal accounts that would disagree,” Prowl attested.

“Shove that right up your aft port, Prowl,” Ironhide threatened, his servos falling out their crossed position on his chest. “If they’re messed up, then Blue’s in a state.”

The Praxian didn’t break his still stance, providing no indication of his inner thoughts on the statements. Jazz, however, vocalized his opinions quite plainly. “We didn’t say Blue was fine, just that the twins are bad off. At least with Blue, there’s a good reason _why_ he is the way he is.”

“Allow me to redirect the subject. Ironhide, Kup, what more is there to be said of the other mech?”

“He’s one of the kindest people I ever met,” Kup said, nothing in his voice suggesting he was anything but honest.

“Second that,” Ironhide agreed. “The mechlings take after him,” he added, glaring pointedly at Prowl.

Inferno turned around to face the rest of the room, adding in, “Mech tried to save the life of his sparkling’s murderer. I’d say he’s solid.”

“So, there appears to be no motive for his leave other than to join alongside his partner?”

Those with any information on the bruiser nodded in agreement. Four mechs, to be exact. Himself included.

“Then the entire affair can be condensed to the medic’s desires for a change, regardless of his reasoning.” The Prime stood from behind the desk to walk around it towards the monitors. “Now, we ought to find out just how they slipped to the enemy’s side so easily.”

“I’m sure it was no difficult thing,” Pharma offered, his feigning nonchalance obvious to anyone paying as much attention as he was. “They approached a ‘Con, perhaps healed one’s wounds, and explained what had been done to them.”

“Your insistence that these two individuals have been slighted so drastically is becoming troubling, Pharma.”

The flyer shrugged and gestured to the screen, indicating some feature on the images. “Look at Knock Out and tell me exactly what your initial thoughts are.”

“He could have worn screens if he felt that strongly about his optic color,” Ratchet reasoned.

Ignoring the way the statement stung, he doubled his observations on the suspicious flyer.

“He did,” Pharma explained, staring down his fellow medic with distaste. “And it did nothing to solve his problems.”

“Aside from perceived prejudice, what do you refer to?”

Pharma turned back to the Prime, his frown returning to that hard line. “We took everything from him. His career, his creations, his autonomy. Of course, we lost their faith in the cause.”

“They did not lose the twins,” Prowl interjected. “They were merely placed in Command’s custody until a more suitable time for their care to return to their creators.”

“When was this decided?”

Ironhide shuffled where he stood, his discomfort only growing. “Little over a decacycle ago.”

“We had a whole conversation about this, Optimus,” Ratchet reminded him.

“It was not made clear we had taken younglings away from their creators.”

“Because we did no such thing,” Prowl insisted. “This was only temporary. And the two are nearly as old as Bluestreak.”

Pharma grinned ever so slightly, a disturbingly cryptic sight that left far too much to be inferred about his thoughts. His optics were a little too bright to not be knowing, and while his body remained free of most tells, Pharma’s wings flicked in an erratic pattern. No one else appeared to notice, though.

“And where are the twins now?”

“They’re with Blue,” Jazz answered. “They got a place with us, no need to worry about them.”

“They _had_ a place though,” Ironhide pointed out, pointing at the couple on the other side of the room angrily. “I just don’t see how taking them did any good.”

“Please consider a different choice of wording,” Prowl said. “The point, to reiterate, was to suppress public outcry. Once the scandal was no longer on many Autobots’ minds, then custody would be returned to the creators.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Ironhide sneered. “But you two would’ve controlled just when these creators got them back. That could’ve been for vorns.”

“Now it will be vorns, yes, but only due to this recent abandonment,” Prowl countered.

“They weren’t abandoned,” Kup clarified, shaking his helm at Prowl. “I can tell you this much, there’s nothing in this life those two cared more about that the twins.”

“Agreed,” Pharma added, smug more than frustrated as others were. “The two had enough faith in this cause to raise what would have been _three_ younglings had said faith not been quickly diminished by how this entire ordeal was handled.”

“That is quite enough.” The room calmed obediently under the Prime’s commanding voice. When Prime looked to him, his back straightened to provide his full attention to his leader. “Red Alert, how much of a security risk do they pose?”

Motioning to one of the monitor’s screens, he brought up his own report on the two ex-Autobots. “Minimal. While the Wrecker is likely to know certain battle strategies and tactics and the medic will have retained information regarding some high level patients, I have concluded neither to pose a high risk of information divulgence, especially given neither took with them any documents—copies or originals.”

“May I ask why you believe this?” Prowl questioned, moving closer to analyze the displayed report.

“You may, and I will gladly answer.” Red Alert glanced between Pharma and Kup to assess their responses. “I agree, their creations were the focal point of both mechs’ lives, based on security footage of their public and private activities. There is no reason for either to leave the twins here unless they planned to utilize the creator-creation bonds to organize an attack. That, however, poses a threat to said twins, so such a course of action is highly unlikely.”

Kup nodded in agreeance, but Pharma remained oddly still, his wings still flicking.

“What is your consensus, then?”

Red Alert returned his attention to the Prime, glancing only briefly to the images of the two traitors. “These mechs are of little consequence, but I will proceed with my investigation into them for further understanding. Whatever their underlying reasons for the sudden leave, I will be the first to know.

“In the meantime,” he continued, motioning to Kup, “I recommend the Wreckers be disbanded. The unit has been nothing but trouble, more so than they are worth.”

Kup didn’t give a reaction other than to look off into a corner room before looking back to Prime. “What if I stepped down? Let someone else take command.”

Prime gave the officer a somber nod. “This may be the best course of action, I am afraid. Do you have a successor in mind?”

“My proposal,” Red Alert quickly added, “is for Ultra Magnus to take command. His ability to control the unruly with strict order makes him a promising candidate.”

“Not a chance,” Kup fought. “Magnus doesn’t know a thing about my mechs. Impactor’s the best choice.”

“Given all that has happened, selecting a leader this team already trusts would be in everyone’s best interests. Kup, you and I will discuss the details of the transfer later. Unless you have anything more to add, you are dismissed.”

The officer bowed curtly, letting a scowl fall onto the SIC before he left without another word. Red Alert pulled up a live security feed of the halls just outside the conference room on his HUD, watching Kup make his way down them, presumably towards the Wrecker barracks.

_Leave him be, Red._

He glanced over his shoulder to see Inferno frowning down at him, the monitors he was supposed to be watching forgotten.

_Fine,_ he responded, letting his irritation spread across the bond in spite. Kup wasn’t nearly the threat Pharma presented, anyway.

The flyer under scrutiny had taken to leaning up against the desk, completely at ease. On the surface, he was staring at the report casually, but Red Alert noted the brightening and dimming of his optics as the mech read his work carefully. With far too much interest, as far as he was concerned.

“Have you anything to add, Pharma?” Red Alert asked cautiously but not hiding how carefully he was watching the mech.

“Your report claims they were both from lower Iacon,” Pharma explained, his mouth upturning in the corners ever so slightly. “But they’re Velocitronian.”

“That is inconsequential,” Prowl said.

“On the contrary,” Red Alert countered, walking over to the screen displaying the inaccuracy. “There are significant cultural distinctions between Iacon and Velocitron that could lead to completely different world views. This also begs the question of how they then arrived here.” He turned around, fixing his gaze on Pharma. “Are you withholding information?”

Pharma raised his hands in surrender, though his smile didn’t dissipate. “All I know is that Knock Out wasn’t able to rise out of his function until he enlisted. He went from being completely uneducated and illiterate to becoming my top surgeon because of the Autobots. I think Breakdown was in a similar situation.”

“And yet, they were still unfulfilled by our faction,” Prime commented, more to himself than anyone else.

Ratchet stepped forward to place a comforting hand on Prime’s arm. “Not your fault, Optimus, that they didn’t appreciate what we gave them.”

“I think of this more as a tale of tragedy,” Pharma said in a sing-song manner that felt far too out of place not to warrant alerts. “By all accounts, Knock Out should have been the success story we told new recruits as an example of what they could all become through us. But instead,” he waved a servo around in a circle, letting it fall limp for emphasis, “we slagged him over.”

Ratchet looked ready to protest, but the Prime laying a hand on his shoulder was sufficient in quieting him. “We hear your concerns, Pharma, and will investigate their truths. For now, you and Ratchet return to your duties.”

“Sort out the combiner,” Red Alert added, pointing to Pharma. “We are in need of Defensor sooner than later given Devastator’s appearance, so you both need to discuss this with his arm.”

“You mean Aid?” Ratchet scoffed. “Primus, Red, they’re five _people_ not five parts.”

He didn’t let the comment faze him, instead turning his full attention on the shifty flyer, eager for there to be distance between them. Pharma gave the room’s occupants a short wave, then waltzed out the door with all the grace his kind was known for, Ratchet following right after him. On his HUD, Red Alert kept a small viewer open to all the cameras in Pharma’s path, marking exactly where he was at all times.

“We need a tighter regulation around that mech,” Red Alert suggested, looking to Prime for his leader’s support, only to be disappointed.

“Pharma is free to think what he likes,” Prime defended. “He’s passionate about our cause and therefore does not wish for our flaws to linger in our system.”

“But he takes his ideas too far,” Prowl pointed out. “How he comes to the conclusions he does, I fail to understand.”

“There’s disagreeing with a few things, and then there’s Pharma,” Jazz agreed, crossing his arms as he spoke.

“I am not concerned about Pharma,” Prime said with finality. “Ratchet trusts him regardless of their disagreements, so we ought to extend the same curtesy.” He tore his gaze away from the screen to look the couple up and down. “You are both prepared to care for these twins?”

Prowl and Jazz both nodded earnestly, Jazz speaking up. “We got no problem with them, and Blue loves them. And we were ready to take care of them after the whole court thing, anyway.”

A thought occurred to him, and Red Alert brought up an image of the twins alongside that of their creators. Noting the detail he had recalled, he addressed Prowl. “I recommend encouraging Sideswipe to install blue lenses for his optics. Their red will do him more harm than good.”

“That is already a conversation Jazz and I plan to have with him,” Prowl assured. “What do you suggest for the brother?”

He took a hard look at the golden twin and his unique optics. They were a soft, elegant coloration that brought the observer a sense of peace. When he compared their shade to the creator’s, Red found the large bruiser’s eyes to be an even warmer shade, far more gold than the tinged amber of the son’s.

“He ought to consider lenses, as well,” Red Alert concluded, still trapped in the image of the blue warrior’s kind face painted a pleasant orange. It was wide, but not blocky, with soft features that had him stroking his own jawline. His hand rubbed at his plating, moving up subconsciously until his digits touched just under his optic. He shifted his gaze to the medic and his brilliantly crimson eyes, as bright as any Decepticon’s. Their color was so similar to his son’s, but both creations seemed to have inherited their sire’s optic shape. Then there were the helm fins and audial horns, unique combinations of their creators’ own helm shapes.

Red found himself staring at the red twin for longer than he probably should have. At the shape and color of his eyes, at the horns on his head, at the broad shoulders and bright red paint job.

He tore his gaze away, not appreciating in the least his reaction to the young mech or the comparisons between the twin and his creators. The similarities made him feel off, and such anxieties simply could not be condoned.

“They will find the idea unpleasant,” he explained. “But they will realize, as I have, the importance of unity within our faction.”

“I trust you both to remain supportive throughout this difficult time for them,” the Prime said sternly. “This is likely not an easy situation for them to navigate.”

“Understood,” Prowl agreed.

“They’ll turn out alright,” Jazz assured, waving at the three other mechs as he made his way to the door. “We won’t let nothing happen to them.”

“I should hope so,” Prime jested, smiling at the two as they, too, left the conference room.

Alone with his conjunx and the Prime, Red Alert began to relax, his near constant vigilance over everyone in Kima finally reprieved for a moment.

“Part of me hopes Pharma is wrong,” Prime admitted, leaning over to rest his weight on his hands planted on the terminal. “But then that begs the question of why any of my people would want to leave us.”

“I will pursue my investigations, Prime,” Red Alert assured. “We will know in time.”

“If you want what I think,” Inferno chimed in, “I think the two of them were really for the ‘Cons but joined us for some reason.” He pointed to a line in the report still displayed on a screen. “One of them’s a prostitute and the other a construction worker. If they are from Velocitron, though—”

“Then the latter likely began as a miner,” Red Alert finished, sensing his bondmate’s thought line. “They would have been Megatron’s target demographic.”

“Making this incident a response to long suppressed allegiance rather than flaws existing in our own system?” The Prime shook his helm in denial. “That cannot be the truth. It is wrong for any of us to believe we have created a utopia of any kind. We must look to ourselves first and foremost for the problem before we ever lay the blame on the victims of a crisis.”

“We ought to also keep in mind,” Red added, “this may very well be an isolated incident. And it is, when we consider the grander state of the war at present, a miniscule event.”

“Nonetheless,” Prime signed, “I want to know what went wrong.” He stood to his full height, his shoulders and chest broadening as he stretched them tiredly. “Continue with your work on the deserters and upgrading Kima’s security.”

“Of course, Prime,” he complied, immediately busying himself with collecting his data pads with the intention to return to the security bay. “You can rely on me and Ferno.”

“Yeah, mech,” his conjunx agreed, giving the Prime a short wave. “We got it covered.”

“I know you do.” Prime nodded at them, turning to walk towards the door when he paused and looked back. Red Alert caught the strange shift in his leader’s field as the taller mech glanced between the monitors and him. It lasted only a few short klicks, but the action still prompted Red’s anxiety to skyrocket, unsure what could possibly cause the Prime to look at him as though he were unfamiliar. “I know I can rely on you, Red.”

The statement brought him significant peace, but he wasn’t fully calm until Prime left the room entirely, allowing Inferno the chance to grip his shoulders comfortingly.

“You okay, Red?”

He shot his conjunx an incredulous look. “Do you mean to tell me you missed the way Prime looked at me?”

“’Parently,” Ferno huffed, but he rubbed at the tense plating to soothe him. “Mech’s more than a little stressed. I’m sure it wasn’t anything at you.”

“Truly you believe that?”

Inferno shrugged then clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t say what you don’t mean.”

As usual, Inferno had a solid point. Red Alert cycled his vents, hoping for the ice in his core to melt away and bring him peace, but he was woefully disappointed. He couldn’t help but fiddle with his hands as his conjunx gathered all their notes and collapsed the report and visuals on the screen. But the collective images of the separated family remained in his mind long after they, too, vacated the conference room.

There was something about that warrior’s eyes and that bright shade of red that had his mind reeling. Try as Inferno might, not even his mate could force the impressions away. They were strange stains in his processor that seemed to serve no other purpose than to awaken this frustrating, nagging feeling in him.

Red decided to shove the feeling to the back of his mind. His priorities needed to be elsewhere, and it was easier to will himself into forgetfulness than to address the feeling directly. Perhaps for a later date, when there was peace and time to consider all that had happened to him, he might give strange sensations more than a moment’s thought.

But for now, there were far higher stakes than his own personal turmoil. They had a war to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has supported this work through reading, leaving kudos and comments, and bookmarking and subscribing to it!!!!! You don't know how much of a role feedback plays in the writing processes, and I have received nothing but kindness! So thank you so much for being a wonderful audience!
> 
> As for this final chapter, fear not! This is far from the actual end of these characters' stories. Keep a look out for more fics to come that dive in to other plotlines and people's perspectives in this universe I have created. There is more to come.   
> I also want to shout out to those who made the connection to Red Alert earlier on. Hope you all enjoyed that little tidbit. 
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone who read all the way through! Stay kind! Stay happy!


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